


What Dreams May Come

by Moon_Disc



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Disc/pseuds/Moon_Disc
Summary: Bringing Cally onto theLiberatorwas always going to change the dynamics of the crew. But is she really to blame for the problems besetting the ship?





	1. Perchance to dream...

“Would you change rooms with me?”

Jenna glanced up, surprised at the request. Cally had been drifting on the edge of her peripheral vision while she had been running a systems check on the navigational computers. She had sensed she wanted something. A number of times, Cally had glanced across from her own station, only to change her mind and look away. 

It was becoming annoying.

Not having known her for long, she had been reluctant to speculate as to the cause. Still not entirely comfortable in her company, Jenna had decided it was none of her business. If Cally had something to say, she would. 

Now she had, Jenna realised whatever preconceived opinions she had formed about her were probably wrong. Asking to change rooms was reasonable, something anyone might request. Except Cally was not just anyone. She was from Auron, and an unknown quantity. Despite her revolutionary background, she had an air of naivety. Jenna was undecided as to whether it stemmed from genuine innocence or carefully contrived artfulness. 

She had settled on the latter because of the effect Cally was having on the others. Blake had found an immediate connection over their shared ideals. Gan had been quietly accepting and Avon was keeping an open mind, or a closed one, depending on how communicative he was feeling at the time. 

Vila, on the other hand, had fallen under the kind of spell that a good thump over the head did nothing to dispel. Jenna had noticed it first in a renewed interest in his appearance. His choice of a multi-faceted, multi-coloured, multi-coloured jacket said more about his expectations than his chances. That the object of his affections was largely unaware of the attention she was attracting did nothing to deter the wistful smiles he threw regularly in her direction.

Cally appeared oblivious to such worldly concerns and inhabited her own ethereal world, often reminding the others of her telepathic abilities as if she thought they might have forgotten. No one could be that naïve, Jenna had told herself. 

It took moments like this to bring back to her again how little she knew about her. Cally had said she could not read minds. But then how would they know? They only had her word for it.

If she could, she probably knew what Jenna was thinking about her now. She watched her, trying to gauge her reaction. Either she was telling the truth or Cally was better at playing the game than she thought.

“Any reason?” she asked, keeping her tone casual.

Cally pursed her lips. “It’s Vila,” she said with difficulty.

Not so surprising, Jenna thought. Perhaps he had finally had the courage to say something to her. 

“Making a nuisance of himself?”

“No, not at all. It’s when he sleeps. He has... _dreams_.”

Jenna felt her eyebrows rising. It was the way Cally said it and the emphasis she used that gave her pause. “Does he?”

“Troubling and intense,” she went on, frowning. “Very vivid.”

“About anyone in particular?”

Cally bit her lip. “About us. All of us.”

Jenna could not help the laugh that escaped her. “_All_ of us? Well, that is news. I wouldn’t have thought it of Vila. Still, you never know.”

“Never know what?” Cally blinked and her eyes suddenly opened wide in understanding. “No, Jenna, you misunderstand. He has nightmares. Some times, I can feel them.”

“_Feel_ them?” Jenna did not profess to understanding telepathy. Cally’s admission did make her uneasy again about what she had said concerning the limits of her abilities. “When you say feel...?”

“You would call it emotional leakage.”

Jenna grimaced. It conquered up unappealing images.

“I don’t know how to explain it so that you would understand,” Cally went on. “I can only compare it to a vibration that transforms itself into pictures only I can visualise.” She shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the memories. “At times, it feels like I am in the nightmares with him.”

Jenna studied her. If what she was saying was true, then it must have been an unpleasant experience. Her own dreams were bad enough. Sharing anyone else’s was something to be avoided.

“Yes, I’ll change with you,” she offered. “You could ask Blake too. He’s at the other end of the corridor, if distance would help.”

Cally nodded gratefully. “I think it might. I shall ask him and explain the situation.”

“I wouldn’t mention the ‘leakage’.” The urge to help her came as a surprise. It felt natural, on some level. “Say Vila snores.”

“You think he might not understand?”

“I’m not sure I do, Cally. Blake has other things on his mind at the moment. Keep it simple.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Jenna watched her go. That had not felt forced. All the same, trust had to be earned, especially after the encounter with the Lost. It had not been her fault, but she had been controlled. Jenna knew she had too, not the same extent. Cally had done things under that influence which had endangered the ship. Should those same circumstances arise again, what would happen next time? 

She had asked Blake that same question. He had dismissed it, saying they would deal with it when it occurred, if ever. Now she was having problems with Vila, Jenna was starting to wonder if Cally was more trouble than she was worth. 

* * * * * * *

“Avon, are you busy?” asked Vila.

“Always,” came the terse reply.

Seeking refuge on the flight deck away from the others, Avon had hoped he would be left in peace. After the confines of the _London_, a ship the size of the _Liberator_ was palatial by comparison. Even so, there were some days when it was still not sufficient. Nor, he was aware, was he alone in that cloistered sense of claustrophobia. Space to breathe, Jenna had called it. Now, with Vila sidling up to him on the forward seating, he saw he was to be denied this luxury yet again. 

“Mind if I ask you a question?”

Avon briefly lifted his eyes from the data pad, acknowledging Vila’s presence without encouraging it. “That depends what it is.”

“Well, then...” Vila licked his lips. “Do you ever... have _thoughts_?”

“Many.”

“Thoughts about us, in particular.”

Avon gave him a sideways glance. “Us?” he said severely.

Vila blinked. “Yes, us.”

“If this is your attempt at humour—”

“What?” Vila’s face clouded with confusion. “Oh, no, not _us_, not me and you. What do you think I am, desperate?” He shook his head when he saw Avon’s expression. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’re very... to the right sort of person... if you see what I mean.”

Avon glowered at him. “Is this going anywhere, Vila?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “It’s about these thoughts.”

Cally chose that moment to enter the flight deck. All problems forgotten, a dreamy smile started to spread across Vila’s face. He sat up straighter and adjusted his collar, ever hopeful.

“The readouts you wanted,” she said, passing Avon another data pad. She noticed Vila and gave him a searching look. “Anything else?”

Avon said not and Cally left. Vila kept his gaze on her until she had passed from sight.

“About these thoughts,” he murmured distractedly.

“Keep them to yourself,” said Avon.

Vila’s attention came back to him. “Hmm?”

“She’s not interested.”

“Who? Cally?” A sparkle came to his eye. “Oh, you like her too, do you?” A knowing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Turned you down, did she? Well, just because she’s not interested in you doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“You are not her type.”

“How do you know? I might be _exactly_ her type.”

“She’s from Auron. You are not a telepath.”

“That’s my advantage, though. I’m different. It’s the novelty value, you see.”

Avon got to his feet. “I have things to do.”

Vila grabbed at his sleeve. Another intrusion. He shook himself free.

“Avon, wait,” Vila said plaintively. “I do need to ask you something.”

“Then ask. And make it quick.”

“Well,” he said uncertainly. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Avon sighed. Pandering to Vila’s paranoia was tedious, occurring as it did with annoying regularity.

“I expect Blake will find a way to get us killed.”

“That’s just it. How? I have these thoughts, Avon, dreams. They wake me up some nights.” His face creased into unhappiness. “Being torn apart by wolves. Eaten by cannibals on some remote planet. Falling into a bottomless pit. Catching some alien disease and turning into a giant mound of mould.” His features twisted. “You don’t think something like that will happen?”

“Anything is possible,” said Avon. “More likely one day we will walk into a situation from which we cannot escape. A trap, probably, with an army of troopers waiting for us. The only question is how many of us will survive the encounter.”

Vila shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so bad. At least we’d all be together. I wouldn’t like to be on my own. Or being eaten alive by wolves. Does that ever worry you?”

“That you will be eaten alive by wolves? No, I cannot say that thought troubles me at all.” Seeing Vila open his mouth again, Avon continued before he could speak. “In the meantime, leave Cally alone. You are becoming a nuisance. She has moved to get away from you.”

“Has she?”

“She changed rooms with Blake.”

“Not because of me!” Vila protested. “I haven’t done anything. I never get the chance!”

“Keep it that way.”

Avon rounded the seating and started up the steps.

“At least I’m not dead from the neck down,” Vila muttered to his back.

“Only from the neck up,” Avon countered. “If you cannot sleep, I suggest you take a sedative.”

“At bedtime?”

“Sooner if you can manage it. And give us all some peace.”

* * * * * * *

_Don't get used to the levity, folks, it's going to go downhill rapidly from here..._


	2. Deep into that darkness peering...

It hit him square in the stomach.

He felt the impact, felt his guts start to boil. The glass he was holding fell from his grasp. Green liquid cascaded down the steps of the flight deck, pooling at the feet of the trooper who had shot him.

Heat, like an internal furnace, roared through his limbs. His muscles shook, defying his attempts to control them. The moment he lost sensation in his legs, he knew he was falling, down to hands and knees. Bent double, after the heat came wave after wave of excruciating pain. And then, as suddenly as it had happened, it faded. With each breath, it contracted to a single burning point below his breastbone, red-hot as though he had been impaled on a fire spit.

And all throughout, one thought remained: why wasn’t he dead?

A bolt like that, point-blank range, and he should never have risen again. Failing that, when they saw he was still alive, they should have moved to shoot him again. At least ten of them, black-uniformed and helmeted, the troopers stood, staring at him, guns held at waist-height, seemingly reluctant to finish him off.

What the hell were they waiting for, Blake thought. Somehow they had boarded the _Liberator_ and taken control. Where were the others? Alive and taken prisoner, or dead, as he should have been?

Well, he thought, they had missed their chance with him. He pushed himself backwards and kept going, until he was far enough away to scramble back to his feet and run down the corridor. Still they did not move. Turning the corner, he leaned up against the wall for support, straining to hear the sound of following footsteps from the flight deck. Nothing. Instead from the other direction came Jenna, sipping her drink, unaware of their situation.

“Stop!” he called to her, holding up his hand. “Jenna, we’ve been boarded!”

She stopped dead, the glass forgotten. The clatter as it hit the floor shook her back to her senses and she came hurrying over to him. Taking in the sweat on his face and his ragged breathing, she took his arm and offered him her support. It was welcome. The shaking had subsided, but he was still unsteady.

“Blake, what’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

“Troopers, on the flight deck. I think... I was shot.”

“Let me see.” 

She started to pull at his clothing, but he caught her hand.

“I’m all right, Jenna. They must have missed me.”

“You’d be dead if they hadn’t.”

He bit his lip against the residual discomfort. “The others, have you seen them?”

“Not yet.”

“We have to warn them. We can’t let them get to the flight deck. There must be ten troopers there.”

“And they let you go?” She was shaking her head. “Blake, I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I.”

“How did they get on board?”

“Jenna, I don’t know!” He regretted his sharp tone. “Let’s get the _Liberator_ back under our control, then we’ll worry about that.”

“There could be more, if you’re right.”

He resented the implication. “I know what I saw.”

She held his gaze. “Then why aren’t they here?”

“They were waiting... for something. Who had the last shift?”

He saw Jenna forcing herself to think. “Gan. Did you see him?”

“No.” A slight rustle from the side corridor made him start. “We have to get out of here. Come on!”

“Blake, wait,” she said. “It’s only Avon.”

Avon, rounding the corner, heard the remark. “I have never been ‘only’ anything, Jenna.” He took in the liquid streaked down the wall and the random splashes on the floor. “Is this how we’re living now?”

“Avon, we’re under attack,” said Blake.

His eyes narrowed. “Then what are we doing here?”

“Troopers have taken over control of the ship.”

“Blake was shot,” said Jenna.

“It appears to have done him no harm,” said Avon slowly, taking in his appearance. He was standing apart, studying him with interest, apparently unmoved by the situation.

“This is serious,” said Blake.

“I’m sure it is. You don’t mind if I take a look?”

Blake grabbed his arm as he passed him. “Avon, they’re armed.”

“Let me worry about that.” 

He pulled free and sauntered away. His lack of urgency was aggravating. Blake held his breath, listening for the sound of gunfire as the sound of his footsteps retreated. Well, he had warned him and Avon, as always, thought he knew better. He waited, and then from the distance he heard his name being called.

Glancing round the corner, he saw Avon heading back towards him, at the same casual pace as before, hands clasped behind his back. 

“They’ve gone,” said he. “If they were ever there in the first place.”

Blake pushed past him and ran back to the flight deck. Avon was right. The steps were stained green, but other than that, there was no evidence of what he had seen.

Blake shook his head as he surveyed the scene. “That’s impossible. There were ten of them.”

“Who have vanished into thin air,” said Avon, coming up behind him.

“I know what I saw.” He rubbed his stomach. The intense pain had subsided, leaving with him with a raw, bruised feeling as though he had been punched. “I know what happened.” He glanced up as Gan appeared at the head of the opposite flight of steps. “Where have you been?”

Gan’s genial smile faded at Blake’s harsh tone. “Vila was meant to relieve me an hour ago. I had to go and wake him up. I wasn’t gone long.”

“You’ve seen no one?”

“No. Should I?”

“No, Gan.” Blake sighed with frustration. “Something happened just now, we’re not sure what.”

“Blake is seeing things,” said Avon.

“I want the ship searched,” said Blake. “I’ll check the airlock. Avon, the teleport.”

Avon did not move. “What am I supposed to find?”

Vila chose that moment to enter the flight deck. Rubbing his eyes, in he wandered in a state of disarray, his hair untidy and his clothes so dishevelled that it looked like he had slept in them.

“You should have been here an hour ago,” said Blake.

“Why?” said Vila. “What happened?”

“We may have been boarded,” said Jenna diplomatically.

“’May’?” Blake stared at her, feeling his face flush with anger. “Is that what you think?” He glanced around at the rest of them, seeing the same uncertain look on their faces. “All of you?”

“I came late,” said Vila with a shrug. “What do I know about anything?”

“Very little,” said Avon, before turning his attention back to Blake. “You said you were shot. Check yourself. Even a glancing blow will have left a mark.”

He did it to prove Avon wrong, to see that smug look wiped from his face. Pulling up his top, he ran his hand over the unblemished skin of his stomach. A slight tingle lingered after the touch of his fingers, but other than that all that was left of the encounter was a memory.

“I don’t understand,” said Blake.

“An illusion,” said Avon. “Or a delusion. Take your pick.”

“You should be used to those,” said Vila, going over to him.

“What?”

“Delusions of grandeur.”

Avon smiled. “Delusions, no. Grandeur, yes.” Vila retreated. “Either way, it never happened. So what did?”

“Blake is probably over-tired,” said Gan, practical as ever. “I know I am.”

“As long as it’s not an outside influence,” said Jenna.

“Meaning?” Blake demanded.

She folded her arms. “Someone who should be here but isn’t.”

“Cally?” said Vila, incredulously. “Why would Cally be responsible for Blake seeing things?”

Jenna gave him a challenging look. “You tell me. She said we could receive her thoughts. What if those thoughts include images?”

“That’s a bit far-fetched,” Vila blurted. “Cally wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I agree,” said Blake heavily. “More likely it is a suppressed memory. They do come back like this sometimes.”

“As vividly as what you experienced?” asked Avon.

“No. This was different. This was physical.”

“Does that make a difference?” Vila asked.

“It might,” said Jenna. She laid a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Why don’t you have a rest? We can manage.”

He offered her a half-hearted smile in gratitude. “Yes, perhaps I will, later. I want to check the ship first.”

“Do you need help?” she offered.

“No. I want to be sure, that’s all.”

He left, shaken by the experience, aware of the weight of the stares that watched him go. For those few minutes, it had felt real. Those rush of emotions, the shock of injury, the need to escape – it had been convincing. Or so he thought. Faith in himself when all else failed had been his cornerstone, but if he could not trust himself, then how could he ask anyone else to do the same?


	3. To die, to sleep...

It always started the same.

With smiles and kisses. With sweet nothings and rich everythings, whispered in the dead of night. Of plans and promises and the golden-haired woman who told him she loved him.

It always ended the same.

In a filthy alley, with betrayal and gunfire and blood on his hands and a veil closing before his eyes.

And then he would wake up, swaddled in damp sheets, with that same sense of tearing loss and grief and disappointment that he had made it through another night. Change was inevitable, except that which could never be changed. In the dark, it was easy to pretend that he was somewhere else in a different time, a better place. Nothing could survive the harsh glow of the _Liberator’s_ lights. 

He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling he knew must be there, imagining the great arc of the universe that folded around the ship, studded with stars so numerous that the majority were still unnamed. One of them, the brightest in Sector Five, unrecorded on the star charts, he had named for her. Flashing gold, distant and unobtainable. The rational part of his brain told him it was an illusion, a matter of refracted light. A yellow giant, evolving slowly, transitioning into the later stages of its life. It would outlive him and the name would be forgotten. Perhaps another traveller would gaze upon its light and give it another name. 

For now it was simply Anna.

And now too, in the darkness, the silence broken only by the sound of his breathing, he was alone. Not physically, because somewhere beyond these walls, Vila was dreaming, and Blake was scheming, and Cally was monitoring the navigational computers, and Jenna was tossing and turning and Gan was running systems checks. Chances to be solitary like this, to revel in the sensory calm away from the untidy emotions of other people, were precious. In solitude, it was possible to drift into a world of his own, memories mingling with fantasies until the line between then was blurred and he was no longer alone.

Imagination was a fortress only he could enter. And yet, if he concentrated, some times those walls would break down and he could hear her voice, as clear as if she was lying beside him. Like tonight, when her whispered words came to him with the sedative qualities of a lullaby. The smile that came to his face felt natural to leave there awhile, as he listened to her gentle breathing, a sound that once had brought him peace. 

He closed his eyes, letting sleep return. Her warmth seeped into his being, comforting without the need for words. Fingers that tangled in hair, the hot breath on his neck, and the tender brush of lips made the vice on his heart slip, easing just enough to release the constant ache. Another hand slid across his waist, pulling him close. Her perfume was intoxicating, and yet what should have sent a wave of pure pleasure through his body induced only a feeling of sickness to the very pit of his stomach.

Because it was not real. All he had to do was turn on the lights and she would be gone. She lingered because he allowed it, not because she was there.

With a sigh, he sat up. The gentle entreaties continued, calling him back. The lights came on, and nothing had changed. The walls were still there, the _Liberator_ drifted onwards and Anna was still dead.

And yet, something was different. His skin tingled as the breath curled just below his ear and the voice breathed into his ear.

“Stay.”

He recoiled. She was there, solid flesh, as real as the sheets, the walls, the yielding mattress that gave and compressed beneath her weight. He backed away, knowing that once she kissed him, his resistance would crumble, that her touch would force his hands to do her bidding.

Her smile faded when she saw the distance he had put between them. Sadness shone in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She moved nearer to try to kiss him only to be denied. “Why won’t you touch me?”

The words caught in his throat. “Perhaps because I can’t believe that it’s you.”

She was far too close. She leaned in, bringing her forehead to rest against his. “Stay with me,” she urged.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “You aren’t real.”

“Why didn’t you come back for me?”

He drew back, took her head in his hands and stared into her eyes, vibrant with life. “I didn’t come back, because you were dead, Anna.”

She pulled him closer until there was no space left between them. Her lips sought his. The world was falling away. If the senses could not be trusted, then what was reality? He could feel the beating of her heart against his chest. His breathing had quickened.

“Am I dead, Avon?” she said, as he nuzzled her neck with delicate kisses. “If I am, why aren’t you?”

The pain that sprang to life in his chest robbed him of breath. Glancing down, he saw the tear in his clothing, with the entry wound, small, ragged around the edges and barely bleeding, just visible. Something warm was running down his back, soaking the fabric. His focus was starting to diminish. The blood tasted sweet in his mouth, leaking away in its haste to escape as though it knew it had already stayed too long. Stark red against the sheets, staining the simple white shift she wore as she held him close against her breast.

“Let it happen,” she said softly, stroking his hair.

He was sinking into her, his fight failing. That voice that kept telling him this was wrong was being silenced by her comforting words. Control was fading in his limbs. He could still hear, and somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming. In the night. In the _Liberator_.

The kind of scream that made the blood run cold and caused adrenaline to surge through the veins. He grabbed onto it, closed his eyes and denied her.

“No.”

When he opened them again, she was gone. He sat there, panting for breath, looking around the empty room. No wound, no blood, no Anna.

The screaming had stopped. The silence which had once been welcome was now overwhelming. He slipped from the bed, shrugged on his clothes and went in search of the living.


	4. To take arms against a sea of troubles...

In the _Liberator’s_ night phase, the lights in the main corridors were kept dim. Avon knew where he was going. Somewhere in the background, the hum from the main drives was a welcome diversion from his own thoughts, noise to keep the ghosts at bay. Ever present, most days it was possible to tune it out, except when he concentrated on it, as now, listening for any irregularities. There was nothing wrong with the ship. Machines were uncomplicated like that. A fault arose, a fault was repaired. People were more complicated.

He entered the _Liberator’s_ common room to find Jenna leaning up against the counter, an empty glass pressed against her forehead. She glanced up when the door slid open and moved aside, keeping her face averted. Avon had seen enough to know not to ask. She had been crying.

The silence persisted until it became uncomfortable, a moment suspended, with both waiting for something to happen. 

“Can’t sleep?” asked Jenna at last, sniffing back her tears.

“The opposite.”

She watched him select a glass. “Want something stronger?” she asked.

He considered and accepted. Jenna pushed a bottle in his direction.

“What’s wrong with Blake?”

“You’re asking me?” Avon returned.

He took a sip of the liquid. Bitter, burning, it caught in his throat and restored some sense of normality. The world felt reassuringly real again.

“Could it be his conditioning breaking down?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He finished his drink and set the glass down. “Were you screaming just now?”

She pushed her hair back from her face. “Yes. Sorry, if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. I wasn’t asleep.”

Vila choose that moment to make an entrance. He came hurrying in, his features tight with tension, wearing a grey robe several sizes too small, loosely tied about the waist. Avon surveyed him critically.

“Oh!” said Vila. He tugged the robe a little closer about him. The hem inched higher up his thighs. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”

“Clearly,” said Avon. “Vila, you’re very nearly undressed. Go and put some clothes on.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” he protested. “Just wanted something to calm my nerves. You don’t mind, do you, Jenna?”

She gave a soft laugh, as though that thought had been the last thing on her mind.

“But I do,” said Avon.

“All right, all right,” Vila muttered. “What are you two doing up anyway, at this time of night?”

His hands were shaking as he poured himself a drink. He downed it in one and poured himself another. 

“Everything all right, Vila?” Jenna asked.

“I had this dream,” he replied. “I was with this beautiful girl and all my teeth fell out. I remember putting them back in my mouth and I asked her if she had anything to keep them in, and she said she had a little box she could give me.”

Avon caught himself sighing. The silence seemed appealing again. It was a sentiment Jenna seemed to share.

“I’m going to see if Blake wants me to take over,” she said.

“You’re not going back to bed?” asked Vila.

She gave him an uncertain look. “I’ve had enough sleep for one night.”

“Me too,” he said into his glass. “I dreamt was about to be killed.”

Jenna paused and looked over her shoulder. “What was that?”

Vila nodded. “This beautiful woman came into my room. Not the same one as before, this was another one. Lovely she was, with blonde hair and big blue eyes.” The colour rose to his cheeks. “Well, before I knew what was happening, she said she wanted me to stay with her.”

Avon stiffened. He felt his face became rigid and his jaw clamped tight. His heart started to quicken. A rolling sea of anger was building, unreasonable and irrational. Impossible for Vila to know that, he told himself. And yet the sense that he was being mocked settled in the pit of his stomach and began to smoulder.

“And then she said the strangest thing, why didn’t I come back for her?”

It was too much. Before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed Vila by his clothing and thrust him up against the wall.

“Have you been prying?” he demanded.

Vila’s eyes were wide with alarm. “What have I done?!” He fought to free himself in vain. “It was a dream, only a dream!”

“Really? What did you tell her? Why didn’t you come back? Say it, Vila!”

“He said he couldn’t because she was dead,” Jenna spoke up.

Avon felt his grip falter. The words were all too familiar. As impossible for Jenna to know as it was for Vila. The thought flickered across his mind that he must still be dreaming. That too seemed unlikely. He concentrated on the soft fabric of the robe beneath his fingers and the trace of alcohol on Vila’s dream. Real enough, he decided. 

“That’s right,” said Vila. He frowned at her. “I don’t know why I said that. How did you know?”

“Because I experienced something similar tonight.” 

Avon glanced over at her.

“Someone I knew, a long time ago. He died.” She folded her arms. “In my dream tonight, he tried to kill me.”

“That’s what happened to me,” Vila blurted out. “She gave me this big kiss and then her hands were around my throat, strangling the life out of me.” 

Reluctantly, Avon released him. He could believe Vila had become curious enough to look into his past, but not Jenna. For both of them to have reached into his mind and dragged his nightmare into existence spoke of interference of a different nature.

Vila rubbed distractedly at his hair as he gave Avon a wary look. “I woke up, choking. I really thought I was going to find marks on my neck, but there was nothing there. It felt so—”

“Real,” Avon finished for him.

“You too?” said Jenna. He inclined his head, unwilling to divulge more. “Then it’s more than just a coincidence.”

“What did you have in mind?”

She stuck out her jaw. “Cally.”

“Cally?” echoed Vila. “We’re not starting this again, are we, Jenna?”

“Someone or something gave us the same dream tonight,” she said. “This has never happened before. The only thing that has changed in our circumstances is Cally.”

“Really? She seems nice.”

“She _acts_ nice, Vila. That’s not the same thing.”

“Why?” said Avon. “What does she get out of this?”

Jenna had an immediate answer. Clearly she had been giving this some thought. “She could be a Federation agent. We only have her word she was with the rebels on Saurian Major. Convenient that she was the only one to survive. Convenient too that she can’t go home.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Vila.

“Let’s say you’re right, Jenna,” said Avon. “Why hasn’t she murdered us all in our beds?”

Vila grimaced. “Don’t put ideas in her head.”

“She needs us for now to fly the _Liberator_," said Jenna. "In the meantime, she’s trying to demoralise and disorientate us. Look at us, we’re already fighting amongst ourselves. Even Blake is starting to doubt himself. She’s doing very well, if you ask me.”

“She’s right,” said Vila. “Now I come to think of it, I didn’t have these dreams until she came aboard.”

“Avon?” Jenna asked.

“Never like this,” he admitted.

“Then the solution is simple. Get rid of her.”

Avon glanced at her. “Blake will never agree.”

“Let’s convince him.”

She activated the intercom. Blake answered almost immediately with his own question. Jenna interrupted him.

“There’s something you need to see first,” she said. “Come and join us.”

“I don’t like this,” said Vila, hugging his robe about him. “It doesn’t seem right to me.”

“Go and get dressed,” said Avon. Vila scowled at him and started away. “Before you go,” he called after him. “What was her name, this woman in your dream?”

“Deena,” said Vila. “Strange, I used to know someone by that name. She always said she would kill me if she ever got her hands on me again, but I never thought she meant it. Still, it made a change from the wolves and boiling oil.”

He scuttled away.

“Wolves?” asked Jenna.

“Vila confided that he has been having nightmares,” said Avon.

“Apparently not his own.”

Avon gave her a sharp look. She held his gaze steadily.

“The person I knew would never have tried to kill me,” she said.

The moment hung. Avon did not reply, which he supposed was in itself an answer. Better not to tell her more than was necessary.

“There’s something else,” she added. “Cally told me she was able to ‘sense’ Vila’s dreams. That’s why she changed rooms with Blake.”

“’Sense’?” Avon queried.

She shrugged. “She called it emotional leakage, whatever that is.”

“Knowing Vila, I can believe it.”

“She might not be able to read minds, but she can certainly put thoughts in them.”

Avon held back from telling her that those thoughts had been based on a version of reality. If Jenna was right, then Cally had delved into his mind, taken a memory and twisted it, to inflict on himself and the others. As a form of torture, it was diabolical. If it was true.

Blake chose that moment to enter the room. His manner was bullish, as though the summons had inconvenienced him.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” said he. “Avon, I’ve been trying to contact you. Zen registered an energy drain for which we can’t account. It might be nothing, but I’d rather find out if there’s an issue before it becomes a problem.”

He noted their expressions and paused.

“Is something the matter?”

“We’re having nightmares,” said Jenna. “And I’ve started seeing things. Someone who died a long time ago. I was certain he was with me tonight, in my room.”

The door opened and Vila returned. 

“Have you told him yet, about Cally?” he said earnestly.

“What about Cally?” said Blake.

“We think she’s responsible,” said Jenna. “She was with you tonight. Did she do anything suspicious?”

Since Blake’s alleged encounter, he had insisted two people were on watch duty at all times. It had met with resistance when he had suggested it, but with hindsight perhaps it had not been such a bad idea after all.

“Not that I noticed. She was reading. It’s been quiet.”

“Not for us,” said Jenna, drawing a deep breath. “Blake, we think she’s working for the Federation.”

He glanced from one face to another. “I don’t believe that.”

“You believed you saw Federation troopers.”

“I _did_ see them.”

“This would account for it.”

He rubbed his fingers across his chin as he gave it some thought. “Let’s say you’re right. Why isn’t Gan here?”

“He doesn’t dream,” said Vila. “It’s something to do with the limiter, so he told me. It stops him dreaming.”

Blake considered before shaking his head. “Cally seems genuine. I’ve talked to her. What she has told me about the resistance on Saurian Major, she can’t have been making that up.”

“Unless she set them up,” said Jenna.

“The Federation can’t have known we would go there.”

“Perhaps that was poor timing on our part. Cally had just disposed of the others and then we appear. She has to improvise and tells you a story about poison from the sky. She come aboard and has been trying to undermine us ever since.”

Blake glanced at Avon. “You aren’t saying much.”

“Jenna is managing very well on her own.”

“You agree with her?”

“In the absence of another explanation.”

“She did ask for the night shifts,” Blake said heavily. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“So she could be awake to prey on us while we slept,” said Jenna.

“Maybe so,” he replied. “But I’m still prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Must we?” Vila said with a groan. “Can’t we kick her off the ship and be done with it?”

“I thought you liked her,” said Jenna.

“I did. That was before she tried to get my dream woman to kill me. Get rid of her, Blake.”

“There’s something I want to do first,” said he. “Gan has the watch tonight with Cally. We’ll go to bed as normal. If we all have the same dream, then we’ll know. Agreed?” His tone implied that he did not expect dissent. “Good. We say nothing to Cally for the moment. I’ll tell Gan. He’ll need to watch her. Now, about that energy drain.”

“I’ll see to it,” said Avon.

“I’ll help,” offered Jenna.

“Very well,” said Blake. “I’ll send Cally to bed. No point in all of us being up.”

With that, he left. Vila stared miserably after him.

“I’m not looking forward to tonight,” he said. “Between the beautiful women and the massacres, it’s getting that I’m too afraid to close my eyes!”


	5. For in that Sleep of Death...

Blake opened his eyes to find the lights had already come on. He rubbed his eyes and blinked away the last remnants of sleep. Despite the trepidation which had accompanied him into bed, his night had been a peaceful one, dreamless and deep. The sheets were not dishevelled, suggesting he had hardly moved all night.

The experiment had been successful. Cally had been exonerated. He knew his faith in her had not been misplaced.

Still, something felt different, but what it was, he found hard to define. He dismissed it as the after-effects of sleep clouding his brain and gathered up his clothes.

Outside in the corridor, he found Vila, yawning. “How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Well,” said Vila. “I was so tired, I don’t remember getting into bed.”

“No dreams?”

“None.”

Blake glanced at his chronometer. “Shouldn’t you have taken over from Gan by now?”

Vila groaned. “I know. I’ve overslept. Mind you, it’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

Behind him, Jenna was coming out of her own room. “I slept well,” she said, in answer to Blake’s question. “How is Avon?”

“Rested,” said he, joining them. “We appear to have awoken at the same time.”

“What of it?” said Blake.

“An observation, nothing more,” said Avon. “What about Cally?”

“I guess I was wrong,” said Jenna.

“Everyone is allowed to be once,” said Blake with a smile.

“One untroubled night doesn’t explained what happened.”

“Perhaps Cally could shed some light on it.”

She eyed him uneasily. “Perhaps we should keep it between ourselves until we know more.”

She set off down the corridor, leaving them behind.

“I don’t think she likes Cally,” Vila observed.

“She might have good reason,” said Avon. “Come on.”

By the time Blake caught up with her, Jenna was already on the flight deck. Zen kept up its silent vigil, overseeing all, making a thousand little adjustments to a thousand different systems. The ship was maintaining speed and course. All was normal, except for the absence of Cally and Gan.

“Where are they?” asked Blake. “They wouldn’t have left their posts.”

Jenna was consulting one of the readouts at her station. “According to this, a systems check was run over an hour ago. They must have been here then.”

“Do you think Cally’s done something to him?” asked Vila. “He can’t fight back, you know.”

“No, Vila, I don’t,” said Blake. “All the same, they aren’t here.”

“Evidently,” said Avon.

“So where have they gone?”

* * * * * * *

Vila was late again.

Gan consulted his chronometer. Thirty minutes late. He had tried raising him on the intercom. There had been no answer. He had tried Blake too with the same result. That same energy drain from the day before had been registering again. Cally had been monitoring it and had yet to identify the cause. Zen had reported that all systems were functioning normally. It was a mystery.

He knew it was time to go and find them. Still, Blake had told him of their suspicions about Cally and he had been keeping his eye on her all night. She had gone about her duties and he had noticed nothing unusual. Despite that, he was loath to leave her alone on the flight deck.

“Cally, I’m going to find Blake,” he said. “I think you should come with me.”

“He isn’t answering?” she asked, setting her book screen aside.

“Nor Vila, Jenna or Avon. I don’t understand it.”

“What about the energy drain?”

“It’s stable. We can deal with it later.”

She nodded and followed behind him as he led the way up the steps and out of the flight deck. Blake’s door was locked and he had to get Zen to override the command. Inside, he found Blake curled up on his side on his bed, sound asleep. Cally lingered in the doorway as Gan went over to him and shook him. Blake did not stir. Puzzled, Gan tried again.

“Cally,” he called to her. “I think something’s wrong. He won’t wake up.”

She came over and laid her hand on Blake’s forehead. Gently opening his eyes, she let the heavy lids fall back down.

“Gan, we should check the others,” she said.

He ran from room to room. Vila, Avon and Jenna were in their beds, unresponsive to his call or touch. Returning to Blake’s room, he found Cally looking down at him with concern.

“Gan, I don’t think Blake’s asleep,” she said, shaking her head when he told her what he had found. “He’s in a coma.”


	6. What Dreams May Come...

“There’s no sign of them,” said Blake as he returned to the flight deck. 

Vila was still there, staring unhappily at the detector screens, in much the same place Blake had left him when they had split up to search the ship. With two members of the crew missing, someone had had to remain on watch. So far, there was no telling how long the _Liberator_ had been left unmanned. Or indeed, what had happened to either Gan or Cally.

From the other direction, Avon came down the steps, timing his return as if to voice the thoughts already in Blake’s mind. 

“Nothing on the teleport,” said he. “The lower decks are clear.”

“Same for the life capsules and the airlock,” said Blake, stroking his chin in thought. “How is it possible they could have vanished without trace?”

“Aliens,” spoke up Vila.

“What?”

“Aliens,” he repeated earnestly. “Did you know nine out of ten alien abductions are carried out by aliens?”

Blake could not help himself. “And the other one?”

“By other aliens, of course. Only, if an alien kidnaps another alien, they can’t be aliens, if you see what I mean.”

“There’s a certain sincere logic in that, I suppose.” Blake turned his attention back to Avon. “Have any ships been registered in the last few hours?”

Avon did not bother to look up from his console. “If we had been boarded, there would be evidence. You did say the airlock was intact?”

“I’m thinking teleport technology.”

“That would be unlikely.”

“Why?” said Blake. “Whoever created the _Liberator_ had that technology.”

Avon finally lifted his eyes in a condescending gesture that suggested he had better things to do with his time. “The odds that the only two ships with teleport capability should run across each other in a chance encounter are astronomical.”

“Not if it’s the same people.”

Blake had finally gained Avon’s attention. He left his console to join him in contemplation of Zen’s bronzed surface. 

“Are you suggesting the original owners have come to claim it?” he asked.

Blake nodded slowly. “It’s not impossible, is it? You don’t just abandon a ship like this.”

“Unless you have a better one.”

Blake caught himself staring at him. “In which case, we could be in trouble.”

The moment was broken when Jenna came running down the stairs. “Blake, I’ve been checking the cabins. All their things are gone.”

“What?” he demanded.

“Everything. It’s like they never existed.”

“Erased from history,” said Vila. “Nice.”

“Not erased,” said Jenna firmly. “We remember them.”

“No one has been erased,” said Blake. “They’ve gone missing.”

“With all their possessions,” said Avon. “That would seem to rule out an abduction or capture.”

“Why?” said Vila.

Blake spared him an impatient glance. “Would you allow your prisoners to pack before hauling them away?”

“I might!” came the indignant reply. “You don’t know why they wanted them. They might have needed all their clothes where they were going.”

“A better explanation is that they went voluntarily.”

“Abandoned the ship?” said Jenna. “And left us sleeping?”

Blake considered for a moment. “Let’s say you’re right about Cally. I don’t agree with it, but for argument’s sake, if she is working for the Federation, what if she convinced Gan they had to leave?”

“Gan would never do that,” said Vila. “He’d try to warn us whatever happened. Anyway, you said yourself there’s no evidence of how they left.”

“If it is the original owners of the _Liberator_ or someone else with teleport capability, they may not have registered on our systems,” said Blake. “Avon, is there any way of verifying that?”

Lost in thought, Avon started when Blake repeated the question.

“Let me try something first,” said he. “Zen, confirm the identity of everyone whose voice prints are registered with the memory banks.”

“Roj Blake, Kerr Avon, Jenna Stannis and Vila Restal,” stated Zen.

“Hang on a minute,” said Vila. “Where’s Gan and Cally?”

“Precisely,” said Avon. “As though they never existed.”

“That would rule out Cally being a Federation agent,” said Blake. “She would not have removed her voice print if she intended to return to gain control of the _Liberator_.”

“_If_ she removed it.”

“I had a dream like this once,” Vila interrupted unhappily. “Everyone had gone and I was the only one left on the ship, all alone.”

“Not now, Vila,” said Jenna with irritation.

Vila continued regardless. “I kept wandering about, looking for everyone. And there I was trying to fly the ship on my own and suddenly Zen said—”

“Information. There is an asteroid on bearing three-eight-nine-one. Collision is imminent.”

“That’s it!” said Vila, oblivious to the activity around him as the others scrambled for their stations. “That’s exactly what happened in my dream.”

“Where the hell did that come from?!” said Blake. The main viewscreen filled with an image of a massive sphere of rock, the size of a small moon, much pitted and scarred. “Jenna, evasion course!”

“Too late,” she replied. “We’ll never clear it in time. It’s too large.”

“Activate the force wall!”

“It will have little effect against an asteroid of that size,” said Avon.

“Then let’s fire everything we’ve got at it.”

“I never thought of that,” said Vila. “But now you come to mention it...”

“Vila, the neutron blasters!” Blake shouted at him. “Do it now!”

“All right, all right,” he muttered, adjusting the settings. “It wasn’t like this in my dream, you know.”

The blasters fired. On the screen, Blake watched as the bolts sheered through the cratered surface of the asteroid, fragmenting it into thousands of pieces. The _Liberator_ shook and rattled as it progressed through the debris field, with the force wall taking the brunt of the impact.

“That was too close,” said Blake, breathing a sigh of relief as the ship emerged relatively unscathed. “Avon, check the sensors. Find out how that thing was able to creep up on us like that.”

“No,” said Avon.

Blake glanced at him. Now was not the time for one of Avon’s acts of rebellion.

“Why not?”

“Because there is nothing wrong with the sensors.” He sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “Nothing wrong with them in our present state, that is. That may change.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Blake demanded.

“Only a fool would believe that at this range the neutron blasters would have any effect on an asteroid of that size. Fortunately for us, we had one aboard.”

“If you have a problem, Avon—”

“I was referring to Vila, although it is revealing that you included yourself.” He inclined his head, a slight smile touching his lips. “Vila believed and so we survived. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Do you have a point?”

Avon held his gaze. “How do you feel, Blake?”

“Feel?” he replied uncertainly.

“Cally and Gan vanishing, asteroids that appear out of nowhere – tell me this ‘feels’ right to you.”

“Of course not, but—”

“Vila!” Avon barked at him. “The other night, the woman who tried to kill you in your bed, does this happen often in your dreams?”

Vila nodded. “Always.”

“Describe it.”

“Well, I’d rather not.” Vila looked from one to another of them, with a touch of colour coming to his cheeks. “It’s personal.”

“Apparently not,” said Avon. “What I experienced that night was... disturbing. It felt as though I was dying. Jenna?” 

She nodded, tight-lipped. 

“Blake, you said once you could recognise dreams. Does this seem familiar?”

Coming from anyone else in any other situation, Blake might have thought he was being ridiculed. The look on Avon’s face, however, convinced him that he was deadly serious.

“What you’re suggesting is impossible,” he said.

“I know,” said Avon. “Consider this. Vila asked me several days ago how I thought we would die. That scenario was what you experienced here on the flight deck. Vila, did you have that dream?”

Vila squirmed under their combined stares. “Yes, all right, I did! But it’s his fault,” he said, gesturing to Avon, “for putting those sort of ideas in my head!”

“It could be a coincidence,” said Blake. “The alternative is...”

“That something is using Vila’s dreams as a template, projecting them into our minds and recasting them with our own experiences,” said Avon. “At least that was the pattern. Until now.”

“We can’t be experiencing the same dream,” said Jenna, stepping down from her console to join Avon and Blake.

“Why not?” said Blake. “Unless this is my dream, and none of you are real.”

“This feels real to me,” she said. “How do I know this isn’t my dream?”

“It isn’t,” said Avon decisively. “It’s Vila’s. And we are sharing it. Given the nature of Vila’s dreams, I should say that being pulverised by an asteroid is the least of our worries.”

From the depths of the ship, a howl rose up, a low plaintive sound, rising to a crescendo before dying away. Then other voices joined the call until the mournful lament faded away into eerie silence.

“What was that?” asked Jenna.

“Wolves,” said Vila, grimacing.

“On the _Liberator_?” said Blake incredulously.

“I can’t help it!” he wailed. “I have a vivid imagination!”

“Warped, more like it,” said Jenna.

“The only consolation,” said Avon, “is that they will eat him first.”

“No, they don’t,” Vila said. “Not in my dream anyway. They save me till last. They eat you first.”

“That says something for their taste.”

“Get a gun,” said Blake to the others. “I’m hoping you’re wrong about this, Avon, but let’s not take any unnecessary chances until we can find out what has _really_ happened.”

* * * * * * *

Returning to the surgical unit with Vila in his arms, Gan found Cally had brought in the last of the recliners to act as a temporary bed. It had been at her insistence that they move their four sleeping friends to where their conditions could be monitored. Jenna had been given the raised bed, whilst Cally had done her best to make the others comfortable on whatever else was available.

In the absence of another plan, it had seemed to him a good suggestion. Mindful of Blake’s words of caution of the previous day, he had been torn between loyalty and instinct. Cally had never been anything but honest with him, as far as he was aware. And as much as he trusted Blake, he could not bring himself to believe that Cally was conspiring against them.

Watching her now, affixing the pads connected to the monitors to Vila’s chest and running her hand across his brow, he could see only compassion and concern in her actions. If she was deceiving him, then she was an expert at it.

“How is he?” he asked.

She glanced up. “I’m not sure, Gan. I can sense nothing from him, not like before.”

He decided not to pursue the ‘before’ part of her answer. Whatever that had been had given Blake cause for concern. He had also been told not to mention those suspicions to Cally in case they came to nothing. Well, something had happened, but not what Blake had been expecting. As she seemed to know what she was doing, he saw no advantage in alienating her.

“Is that good?” he said instead.

“That depends. Has anything like this ever happened in the past?”

Gan shook his head.

“Then no, it is not good.” She consulted one of the monitors. A series of lines with regular dips and rises ran across the screen. “Vila’s vital signs appear stable. That is reassuring. However, I am not familiar enough with human physiology to know what would be within acceptable ranges.”

“We aren’t all that different from you,” said Gan. “Can’t you use yourself as a reference?”

“I could,” she said unconvincingly. “But what if I am wrong? Look at his readings.” She gestured to the monitor and Gan came over for a closer look. He knew little of medicine, but even he could see that Vila’s pulse was elevated. “Would your heart typically beat as fast as that?”

“If I were scared, possibly.”

“And this brain activity, is that normal?”

Gan shrugged helplessly, but Cally had already turned her attention to her next patient. While she worked, he looked down at Vila. Buried in sleep, he was still, the only movement the slight rise and fall of his chest. No, he was mistaken. On closer examination, Vila’s eyes were moving beneath the lids.

He could remember another who had slept like that, in another time, another place. Her features had been much softer in sleep, almost beatific, as the lines of worry that usually creased her eyes were smoothed away, recalling the sweetness of her youth. At those times, he had wanted nothing more than to curl up into the warm curve of her body, not to have to leave her for the work that stole his sleep in the hours of darkness.

Dreaming, she had been at peace. And yet, Vila was not. There was a tension in his face that told of less peaceful dreams. 

“That’s strange,” Cally said suddenly, peering at Blake’s monitor. “Gan, look at this.” 

She called up two readings on the same screen so that they appeared side by side.

“Do you see?” Another two readings appeared when she pressed several buttons. “And see here, Avon and Jenna. They are the same. Gan, their brains scans are identical!”

* * * * * * *

_Just to reassure everyone - no wolves will be harmed by eating any members of the crew in the making of this story..._


	7. Awake while sleeping, and waking sleep

“Blake, stop.”

Jenna came to a staggering halt, breathless and exhausted. 

“I can’t run any more.”

Blake quickly retraced his steps to where she had stopped, bent double, one hand against the wall for support. From somewhere behind them, around a bend in the corridor, came the howls and the patter of many feet.

“Jenna, we have to keep moving,” he urged.

She shook her head in weary resignation. “We can’t outrun them. Every way we turn, they find us.”

Blake took her arm. “Come on.” He called to Vila and Avon. “We’ll try this way.”

“We’ve been that way,” said Avon. 

“And this way,” said Vila, panting. “Every way, come to that. Let’s stay here and get it over with.”

“You can do that if you want,” Blake said. “I’m going in here.”

By his calculation, it should have been the door to the surgical unit. There again, in this world constructed out of the fantasies of Vila’s mind, it could just as easily lead back to the flight deck. Rooms without walls, doors that refused to open, corridors that felt as though you had been this way ten times before – it was disorientating. Like a dream. He was starting to believe Avon was right.

The door opened and to his surprise the room was as he remembered. He helped Jenna inside, aware that Avon and Vila were on his heels. The door was closed, Avon activated the lock and the distant baying was silenced for a while.

“At least we’ve got this right,” said Blake with a sigh of relief.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll wake up soon?” said Jenna to Vila.

He pulled a face. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”

Something large impacted against the other side of the door, followed by another and another. Avon took a few steps away from the vicinity and eyed the shaking metal surface with concern.

“Will it hold?” asked Blake.

“That depends what we are up against,” he replied.

“Vila, how many wolves were there in your dream?”

He swallowed hard as the thuds intensified. His best effort to come up with a convincing answer failed miserably. “Oh, one or two. No more than ten. Maybe twenty, twenty-five at the most.”

“And there’s only four of us,” said Jenna.

“It will hold,” said Avon.

A rueful smile touched her lips. “You’re not just saying that my benefit?”

“For Vila’s. If he believes, then we might survive. Otherwise, we stand a good chance of being devoured by animals which have been extinct on Earth for hundreds of years.”

“I heard that,” said Vila. “It’s not all my fault, you know.”

“We know,” said Blake. “Avon, I’ve been thinking. There’s a problem with this dream theory of yours. I was awake when I saw those troopers.”

“And I’m sure I was too the other night,” said Jenna.

“Vila was asleep on both those occasions,” said Avon.

“When his unconscious mind was most vulnerable to attack.” Jenna sighed. “We’re back to Cally and Vila’s leakage.”

“My what?!” said Vila suddenly. The pounding on the door grew louder and more persistent, drowning out Jenna’s reply. “Oh, give it a rest!” he called out. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The banging broke off abruptly. Vila glanced up to find the others looking at him.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” said Blake.

“I didn’t know they’d listen to me,” he said with a shrug. “What was that about Cally?”

“Your dreams were disturbing her,” said Jenna.

“That could work in our favour,” said Blake. “She might know we’re in trouble by now.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Or she might be causing it.”

“No, I don’t think she is,” said Avon thoughtfully. “We have overlooked the obvious. Our being awake should have alerted me sooner. There is something on the _Liberator_ that is able to take an image from our minds and project it back to us.”

“Zen!” said Blake. “Of course. But isn’t that a defence system?”

“That failed in its primary purpose. This must be a back-up programme. I should have anticipated something of the kind. Having failed to kill us the first time, it has changed tactics. Blake, it has already looked into our minds. Vila was new territory.”

“But, Avon, we were awake before, both times,” said Jenna.

“And were able to defeat it, _both times_,” he replied. “Blake was able to escape the troopers. We survived. Failure again. It learns, Jenna. It is now concentrating on our unconscious minds. The question is whether we are going to be able to fight back.”

“With Vila’s help, we should be all right,” said Blake. “As you said, if he believes—”

“That will only work for so long,” said Avon. “This programme is capable of adaptation. Two failures and it changes tack. We may have escaped the asteroid and the wolves. The next time we shall not be so lucky.”

“Does dying in your dreams mean you die in real life?” asked Vila anxiously.

“Why don’t you go and find out?” said Avon.

“If that is the case, we will have to be careful,” said Blake. “Everything we encounter here is potentially hazardous. I say we play it safe and stay here. Once Vila wakes up, that should get us out of it and then we can deactivate the defence system. Agreed?”

“Assuming he can.”

Blake considered. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“That depends on the condition of our bodies back in the real world.”

* * * * * * *

“I’m going to try to get a message to Vila,” said Cally decisively. "If we can't wake them, then perhaps they can wake themselves."

Gan gave her a dubious look. Nothing they had done so far had worked. Full medical scans had failed to produce any conclusion for the comatose state. No illnesses, no imbalances, no reason why they would not wake up. All four slept on, oblivious to the consternation they were causing.

Now, thinking over Cally’s suggestion, he could not deny, in the absence of anything else, that it seemed like a good idea. Still, a nagging doubt remained.

“Will he hear you?”

“I cannot say.” Her brow was furrowed. “His mind may be the most open, given what I could sense of his dreams before. Even so, he might be too far away for me to reach him.”

“Far away? He’s only there, Cally.”

“I mean, in his own mind.” She studied Vila’s face with its rolling eyes beneath the lids as if searching for some trace of his waking self. “He looks like he’s dreaming, Gan, but this time I sense nothing. It’s as if he is buried deep within himself.” She glanced up and he noticed the firm set of her lips. “I must try.”

“Cally,” he said, catching her attention. How to broach the subject without offending her, that had been his concern. “You don’t think this could be a result of your telepathy, do you?”

Her face registered surprise. “How do you mean?”

He felt embarrassed at having to ask. “Your... powers?”

“’Powers’?” she echoed. “That implies some preternatural force. My abilities are not considered extraordinary amongst my people.”

“They are amongst us. Cally, I hate to have to ask, but could your telepathy be affecting them?”

He thought he read old sadness in her face, as though the question was not entirely unexpected but was disappointing nonetheless. “The people of Saurian Major were not dissimilar to you,” she said. “They reported no ill effects. I have never hurt anyone.”

Gan offered her a reassuring smile. “I didn’t mean intentionally.”

“Is that why you’ve been watching me?” she asked.

“Have I? It wasn’t...”

“Intentional?” She returned his smile. “It’s all right, Gan. I understand. If I am responsible, then I must leave, of course. But let us help our friends first. Will you trust me?”

“Yes.”

She patted his arm. “Thank you. Now then, Vila,” she said, turning to his bed. “I need you to hear my voice.”


	8. Dream on, of bloody deeds and death...

“Cally!”

Vila’s exclamation made them all start. Suddenly galvanised into action, he pushed Blake out of the way in his rush to get to the intercom.

“It’s Cally,” Vila said, pushing the button on the unit. “Can you hear me? Cally! Blake, she can’t hear me.”

Blake glanced at Avon. He had heard nothing.

“Now he’s imagining things,” muttered Avon.

“No, I’m not,” said Vila indignantly. “Listen.” He put his ear close to the intercom. “She’s very faint.”

“She could be speaking to him telepathically,” suggested Blake.

“It could be a trap,” said Jenna. “This could be another of his dreams.”

“Then we would all be hearing it.” Blake joined Vila by the intercom. “What is she saying?”

“Hush!” he replied. “I can barely hear her now.” His features screwed up in an effort of concentration. “She’s saying we’re asleep and we won’t wake up. That’s not good, is it?”

Blake shook his head.

“She’s saying she and Gan have moved us to the medical unit and... _oh_.” 

Vila hesitated. If Blake did not know him better, he would have said he was blushing.

“What’s the matter now?” Avon demanded, coming over to where they both stood.

“It nothing. It’s just...” Vila lowered his voice so only Blake and Avon could hear him. “When I went to bed last night, I was so tired that I... well, I can’t remember if I put anything on.”

“With all that was happening, you forgot to dress?” Avon said.

“I didn’t expect to get abducted in my sleep!” Vila protested. “Anyway, I never wear clothes in bed when I’m not in prison. It’s how I know I’m free.”

Blake sighed, relieved it had not been worse news. “Vila, if that was all I had to worry about, I’d die a happy man.”

“Yes, but what about me?” He leaned closer to share a confidence. “I’ve got this tattoo, you see. Had it done years ago when I was young and drunk. I woke up and there it was. It says—”

“Well, I’m sure they won’t look,” Blake interrupted him. “Now, what else is she saying?”

He shrugged. “That’s it, really. We’re all in comas and we have to wake ourselves up.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. She can’t hear me to ask her.”

“You wouldn’t. Cally can’t read minds.”

“If that is Cally,” said Jenna.

“Agreed,” said Blake. “However, if she’s right, we’re going to have to get ourselves out of this. I don’t suppose disabling Zen would work?”

“This is an illusion,” said Avon. “Nothing here is real. Vila could acquire some intelligence and it would have no effect in the conscious world.”

“And yet you think Zen is trying to kill us? If it has no effect, then it isn’t going to work.”

Avon forced a smile. “I was thinking in terms of relative values. Vila could wake up believing himself to be a genius but it does not change his actual intelligence. That belief would soon be dispelled, but believing it, if only for that period between waking and sleeping, would have a causal effect, on his confidence, for example.” He eyed Vila with scorn. “Which would explain a good deal.”

“Hey!” said Vila. “I _am_ a genuis. When it comes to picking locks, anyway.”

“So a causal effect of dying here could be dying in the real world,” said Blake. “What if we don’t believe it?”

“We will,” said Avon. “Otherwise this exercise is pointless. The stress response may be enough to kill us. Instead of waking up as we would usually do, this programme may force the dream to be taken to its actual conclusion. It has a proven ability to suppress our natural instincts for self-preservation, after all.”

“Eh?” said Vila. “Did I miss something?”

“When we first came aboard, it tried to lure us to our deaths by using images of friends and family,” Jenna explained to him. “If that’s true, what is going to wake us up?”

“A similar stress response,” Blake said heavily. “If the defence programme can control us, then we have to manufacture a situation of our own making to provoke that response. We cannot let the programme take us out. We have to do it ourselves.”

Jenna looked uneasy. “Do you mean we have to kill ourselves?”

Blake nodded. “The resultant adrenaline surge should wake us up.”

“Oh, now wait a minute,” said Vila. “That seems a bit drastic to me. I’m all for trying new things, but I’d like to survive them, if you see what I mean.”

“He’s right,” said Jenna. “I don’t like this, Blake. It’s dangerous. We can’t be sure that was Cally. It could be the programme, it could be—”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “That’s why I’m going to do it, alone. I’ll wake up and disable the defence programme. That should release the rest of you.”

She searched his eyes. He smiled, smothering the tension that was weighing in his gut. She was expecting to see apprehension. Instead he was trying to give her the reassurance he needed himself.

“What if you’re wrong?” she asked.

“Then the rest of you will have to find another way out.”

“If we get the chance,” said Avon. “It will be safer if we go together. Besides, you won’t be able to disable the defence programme without my help.”

Blake turned to him in surprise. “Are you volunteering?”

“It would not be my first choice. However, if I am right about the programme adapting, it may move to eliminate those who remain here before you can disable it.”

“Very well,” said Blake. “Together it is. How?”

“We have our guns.”

“That’s a bit violent, isn’t it?” said Vila. A sheen of perspiration had appeared on his forehead. He started pacing nervously and a tremor had crept into his voice. “I don’t like the sound of that. In fact, I don’t like the sound of any of it. Can’t I stay here?”

“It’s all or nothing, Vila,” said Blake.

“Well, isn’t there something in here?” he replied, glancing about the medical unit. “Something to send us off peacefully?”

“And while we are vulnerable, those wolves of yours could get in and finish us off,” said Avon. “Or worse.”

“Worse?” queried Blake.

Avon shook his head. “Better not to remind him. Vila has invented some ingenious ways to die.”

“The airlock,” said Jenna. “It would be quick.”

“Stepping out into space?” said Vila. “That’s my worst nightmare. Well, one of them.”

“Vila, calm down,” said Blake. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His fear was getting the better of him. Beads of sweat were running freely down his brow. “You don’t know that. What if we die?” His face twisted unhappily. “I feel sick.”

Blake patted him on the back. “Think of how better you’ll feel when you wake up. Concentrate on that. Right, the airlock. Do we know where it might be?”

“Ask him,” said Avon, gesturing to Vila.

Vila hung his head. “Left and left and left again.”

Blake took out his gun. “Then let’s go.”

He led the way. Opening the door, he peered out. All was quiet. No wolves, no dents in the metal door to suggest they had ever been there. He gestured for the others to follow and started down the corridor. He was vaguely aware of Jenna behind him when he paused at the end of the passageway.

“All clear?” she whispered. 

“We’ll see,” he replied.

He glanced around the corner. The corridor stretched away, empty and silent, save for the omnipresent hum of the _Liberator’s_ main drive. With a nod to the others, Blake stepped forward, his back brushing the wall. Several feet further on, and he thought he caught a sound. Not the patter of paws, but the harsh clatter of boots coming from the opposite direction.

“Back!” Blake yelled. 

He arrived back at the corner just in time to see three troopers appear at the end of the passage. From the sound of it, many more were following. Retracing his steps, he sought the room they had left, only to find that the door had gone. With nowhere to hide, up ahead an intersection beckoned that he was sure had not been there before. Three ways to run, and no way of knowing if there were more troopers waiting for them.

“Come on,” he urged.

“Where are we going?” said Vila.

“We can’t go back. Forward it is.”

He ran, instinct telling him to go right. With the troopers catching up, he turned the corner without waiting to see if it was clear. To his relief, they were alone. He would have kept running had a cry not come from behind him. Turning in time to see Vila sliding across the floor, his feet slipping out from under him, he was about to go back to help him when he saw Avon turn the corner and haul Vila up by his arm. With both of them on their feet, Blake continued running, coming to another junction in the corridor and again turning right.

Breathing fast, he glanced over his shoulder to check the others were still following. Jenna was close behind and Vila was struggling to keep up. Avon came into view, only to stop suddenly, his gaze fixed on something down the opposite passage. The hand holding his gun lowered. From the look on his face, whatever it was had paralysed him with shock.

Blake let Jenna and Vila go past before calling to him. “Avon! Come on!”

Avon turned slowly, like a man in a dream. Then there was the sound of gunfire. Blake could only watch as a panel exploded when the blast missed Avon by inches and impacted instead on the wall. A cloud of grey-black smoke billowed out, engulfing and obliterating him from Blake’s sight. Telling the others to keep going, Blake ran back the way he had come. Rounding the corner, he swatted away the smoke to find Avon coughing and supporting himself with one hand against the wall.

“I’m all right,” he said.

“Why did you stop?” Blake demanded.

“I thought I saw...”

His gaze travelled back to the opposite corridor. Blake turned and through the smoke he glimpsed a figure in the distance, blonde hair bobbing as she walked away from them.

Avon coughed again, drawing Blake’s attention away from the vision to find him staring down at the hand he had put his mouth, now scarlet and sticky with blood. That some confused look returned to his face, only to be swept away as he suddenly grimaced. Blake grabbed him as he staggered, clutching at his stomach. Red droplets started to splatter the floor, dripping from the rivulets of blood that were dribbling between Avon’s fingers.

Avon drew his hand away. A grey metal tip was protruding from his stomach, the black of his tunic rapidly staining ever darker as the blood flowed freely from the wound. Blake caught him as his knees gave way and he fell forward into his arms. Looking over Avon’s shoulder as he pulled him out of harm's way back around the corner, Blake could just see the remains of a broken shard from the wall sticking out of his side.

Lowering Avon to the floor, he positioned him with his back against the wall so that the shard was not pushed deeper.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Avon said with effort.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Blake. He glanced around the corner to see the troopers cautiously advancing through the smoke. “We can’t stay here. I’ll carry you to the airlock.”

Avon shook his head. A red pool was starting to gather around him. “Go. But give me my gun first. If I can wake up, I can disable the defence system.” 

Blake tried to press the handle into his hand. Avon fumbled with it and it slipped from his grasp.

“Here, take it,” said Blake, closing his fingers around the handle. When he removed his hand, the fingers opened and the gun fell away. Avon’s head lolled heavily against him and he began to slide down the wall, eyes closed and insensible, as a long breath escaped him.

Blake shook him gently. Avon did not respond. The life had drained out of him onto the floor.

* * * * * * *

In the medical unit, Gan was first to catch the warning bleeps of the alarm. Hurrying over to Avon’s side, he saw the lines on the monitor fluctuating wildly. Cally joined him as the lines began to flatten out and finally scrolled horizontally across the screen.

Cally looked up at him, her eyes glassy.

“They’re dying, Gan,” she said. “And there’s nothing we can do to help them.”


	9. The sum of all fears...

“Where’s Avon?”

Vila was first to ask the inevitable question when Blake caught up with them.

“He isn’t coming,” he replied tersely. “Keep moving.”

“Isn’t coming?” Vila queried. “He’s not staying?”

“Blake, what happened?” asked Jenna.

Unlike Vila, she had used her eyes and seen the blood smears on his clothes and sleeves. Avon’s blood, since he had not a mark on him.

“There was an explosion,” said Blake. “We’ve lost Avon.”

She drew an uneasy breath. “By lost, you mean...?”

He nodded. It did not need saying. It had happened so quickly, he was still trying to adjust to it himself. The nagging sense of loss was only now settling in, when he found two faces staring back at him instead of three. Temporary, he told himself. Get out of this nightmare and none of this would have really taken place. An illusion, nothing more. Like the woman he had glimpsed walking away down that corridor.

Except, if what Avon had said was true, he was not going to be there when Blake woke up.

He tried not to dwell on it. With effort, he forced himself back to the present.

“If it killed Avon,” Vila was saying, “what chance do we have?”

“Avon allowed himself to be distracted,” Blake said. “We must not do the same. This defence system knows us, remember that. Now, where’s that airlock?”

“This way,” said Jenna, indicating the corridor to the right.

“Let’s go. Those troopers won’t be far behind.”

“Where did they come from anyway?” Vila wanted to know as they set off.

“Part of what I saw on the flight deck, I imagine,” said Blake. “Another variant on the theme of the hunter.”

“I think I prefer the wolves,” said Vila. “At least they didn’t have guns.”

The inner door of the airlock was a moderately welcome sight when Blake rounded the corner. Considering what they had to do, doubts were starting to whisper at the back of his mind. Madness, but then that was the very definition of this place. If someone had told him he would be running from wolves on the _Liberator_, he would never have believed them.

Entering the command code released the inner door. Any qualms he had about going inside vanished when several troopers appeared at the other end of the corridor and took aim. With Vila frozen to the spot, he had to grab him by the scruff of his collar and haul him in. The door closed just in time, leaving the troopers hammering ineffectively on the outside.

“Close,” said Blake with a sigh of relief. “Well, now we’re here—”

“We are sure about this?” said Vila, grabbing at his sleeve. “I mean, throwing ourselves out of an airlock, that’s the sort of crazy thing crazy people do. We aren’t, are we, crazy?”

“Do you have any better suggestions?” Blake retorted.

Vila backed down. “No.”

“We need to shock ourselves into wakefulness. This should do it.”

“But how?” Vila was beginning to fret. It was not helping. “They say you explode without a spacesuit. Or freeze.”

“Which is it?” Blake said irritability.

“Neither,” said Jenna. “We’ll have about ten seconds before our lungs rupture and we pass out.”

Vila clapped his hand over his mouth. “I’ve changed my mind! I’ll stay here and take my chances.”

“Too late,” said Blake. The troopers were discharging their weapons against the door in an effort to break through. “Right, I’ll do it, shall I?”

There were no other volunteers. When Blake reached out to the lock, Vila turned his back on the door. Well, he could not blame him for that. Jenna had not painted an appealing picture of what was about to happen.

The moment hung as he paused. No other way, he told himself, and pressed the button.

With a hiss, the door swung open. Blake braced himself, closed his eyes. Seconds slid by. When nothing seemed to be happening, he dared to look.

“There’s a problem,” he announced.

“Are we dead yet?” said Vila. 

Blake glanced over at him. He had his eyes screwed tightly shut.

“No, nor likely to be. Look for yourself.”

Vila turned as Blake stepped over the threshold into a room with a tall domed roof, the walls coloured in the uniform prison-grey tones beloved by the Federation. The centre of the room was dominated by computer console. All as he remembered it, save for the one person who should have been there.

“So much for being in control of our own fate,” said Blake.

“Where are we?” said Vila, following him cautiously.

“Jenna?” Blake said.

“The _London_,” she said, nodding. “This is the computer section.”

* * * * * * *

Gan had been hovering on the edge of Cally’s vision for a good five minutes, unsuccessfully trying to attract her attention. Since helping her place Avon into a resuscitation chamber, he had got quickly out of her way, leaving her space to work. He had not argued with her insistence that they keep Avon alive. Machines kept his blood moving and a ventilator was forcing air into his lungs. He did not like to tell her, although he was sure she could see for herself, that the monitor was not registering brain activity.

As far as he could see, Avon was dead. He did not pretend to understand Cally’s reasoning, but grief, well, that was something with which he was familiar. If doing this helped her, then who was he to stop her?

Still, he had other concerns. That energy drain, for example. He had hoped he would not have to disturb her, but the situation could not be ignored for much longer. 

“I should really go and check on the flight deck,” he said at last. Cally glanced round, as if surprised to find him there. “Can you manage?”

She nodded.

“If you need me...”

“I’ll let you know.” 

He turned to go.

“Gan,” she called after him. “We can still save them, I’m sure of it.”

He offered her a smile. “I know we can. We have to.”

He almost added ‘for their sakes and ours’. On a practical level, losing all four of them would reduce the _Liberator’s_ crew to two. Then what would happen? He had not Blake’s leadership skills or Jenna’s piloting ability or Avon’s computer expertise or Vila’s innate pragmatism. Without them, they were vulnerable and the _Liberator_ became more of a liability than an advantage. On a personal level, he had come to trust them, to like them. Truth was, he needed them. Their survival was tied to his own.

But how to help them, that was the problem. He wanted to believe Cally, but she had no more answers than he did.

Back on the flight deck, he was relieved to find all systems functioning normally. A prolonged absence, necessary as it had been, had caused no harm. Or so he thought.

“Information,” said Zen. “The vessel at bearing seven-nine-four-six is now on an intercept course.”

“What vessel?” Gan demanded. “Zen, put it up on the main screen. Let’s have look at it.”

The approaching ship was squat and inelegant, with bulging sides, as though it had been overfilled with air and had never regained its original shape. Dented and scarred, it looked like it had seen its fair share of conflict. But Gan knew appearances could be deceptive. With no obvious weapons on view, the fact this ship was still travelling warned of hidden potential. At under eight hundred spacials, it was already too close. 

“Zen, plot a course to get us out of here, standard by four,” he ordered.

“Confirmed.”

A sudden jolt as the ship shuddered to a halt before jerking back into motion almost swept Gan from his feet. No sooner was he upright than Cally’s voice came through the intercom.

“Gan, what’s happening?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.” He consulted the navigation computers. “We’ve had a course deflection of three-seven-zero.”

“What caused it?”

He shook his head, although he knew she could not see him. “I’m not sure. There’s a ship approaching. Zen,” he called out, “reverse thrust and stop.”

“Confirmed.”

Despite Zen’s reassurance, the computers registered that the ship was still moving, being drawn inexorably towards the other ship.

“Information,” said Zen. “Energy banks three and six are now exhausted.”

“Already?” said Gan.

“Information,” Zen said again. “Energy banks one and five are now exhausted.”

“Zen, cancel reverse thrust. Cally,” he said into the intercom. “I think they’ve got a traction beam on us. We can’t break free. We’re using up too much power.”

“I’m on my way,” she said before the channel cut out.

Exactly as he had feared, with the crew depleted, they were already under attack. Well, two could play at that game.

“Zen, activate the force wall,” he said. “Clear the neutron blasters for firing.”

“Rejected,” Zen returned.

“What? You can’t reject a direct command.”

“Your command reduces to an order for termination of the registered members of the crew. This runs counter to Prime Directive.”

“They’ll be terminated anyway if you don’t comply,” Gan shouted at Zen’s bronzed surface as Cally entered the flight deck. “That ship out there will do it!”

“Or something in here,” said Cally. “Zen, explain that order.”

“Please state course and speed.”

“He knows,” said Gan, “but he won’t tell us.”

“Perhaps he can’t,” said Cally thoughtfully. “Have you tried to contact the other ship? Zen, I need their communications frequency.” The channel opened. “This is the _Liberator_. Identify yourselves.”

“Who are you?” returned a gruff, indignant voice. “And what are you doing on _my_ ship?”


	10. Much to hope and all to lose...

“Identify yourself,” Cally repeated into the communicator. “This is the _Liberator_.”

An impatient sigh cut through the static. “I am Captain Vega of the salvage ship, _Bellatrix_, out of Axis.”

“Salvage?” Cally whispered to Gan.

“As per regulation three-six-nine, subsection two-two-one of the Space Salvage and Reclamation Act, a claim on this ship was registered thirty-nine days ago,” Vega was saying. “Following the mandatory waiting period of thirty standard days, as the original owners have failed to challenge our claim, this vessel has now passed to our possession. So, I ask again, what are you doing on my ship, love?”

“’_Love_’?” queried Cally. “Is he attempting to be insulting?”

“I believe so,” said Gan.

“This is _our_ ship,” she said into the communicator. "Deactivate your traction beam."

A short chuckle came to her ears. “You’re not the original owner, lady,” said Vega. “Let me speak to your captain.”

Cally glanced at Gan, who shrugged in reply. “I speak for the captain,” said she.

“And I’m the Emperor of Saturn. He’s dead, ain’t he? Or if he’s not dead, he’s dying. Either way, you’re trespassing.”

“We had no information about a prior claim.”

“Ignorance is no defence, as you’ll soon find out,” said Vega. “We don’t tolerate claim-jumpers on Axis. Prepare to be boarded.”

The channel snapped shut. Cally ran to the armoury and grabbed a gun. Gan watching her, slowly shook his head.

“Cally, we can’t fight them,” he said. “The _Liberator_ is trapped and we are outnumbered.”

“We cannot let them come aboard,” said she. “The lives of our friends depend upon it.”

“Vega might know what’s wrong with them. They are more important than the ship.”

“He accused us of trespassing. Why should he help us?”

“He sounded like a reasonable man,” said Gan. “He works according to rules and regulations. If we explain what happened, he might help us.”

“He might kill us,” said Cally. “I’m going to guard the airlock. See if you can get Zen back on our side.”

* * * * * * *

“The computer section?” Vila said. “I was never here. I don’t remember any of this. And this is supposed to be my dream!”

Blake had been taking a turn about the room. It was accurate in his memory, right down to the numbered control panels on the walls. The door through which they had entered from the airlock was the only way in or out, as before. Behind them were the troopers on the _Liberator_, who would break through soon enough. There was only one way out of the room. It had its risks. So did remaining. Stay or die. Leave and die. Whoever was controlling this dream was forcing them into a corner.

“It’s what Avon said,” Blake replied at last. “The programme is capable of adaptation. You were the template, Vila. This, it has concocted from our memories.”

“Avon should be here,” said Jenna. “We’ve got Vila instead.”

“Don’t say it like that,” said Vila miserably. “You’ll make me feel unwanted.”

A pounding started on the inner door of the airlock. Blake exchanged a glance with Jenna. She nodded and drew an uneasy breath.

“They’re through,” said Blake. “We can’t stay here. The _London_ has an airlock. We’ll use that.”

“What’s to stop the same thing happening again?” said Jenna.

“We’ve still got our weapons. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?” said Vila.

Blake pulled opened the hatch of the service channel.

Vila started to back away. “No, oh, no! I’m not going in there. Not after what happened to Nova. No power on Earth would make me do it.” He flinched and ducked as a barrage of weapon-fire made the airlock door rattle. “All right, you’ve convinced me.”

“I’ll go first,” said Blake. “If anything is going to happen... well, let’s just say I’ll make sure the way is clear. Then Jenna, then you, Vila.”

“Be careful,” Jenna said.

Blake hauled himself up to the hatch and peered inside. A tangled mass of wires encroaching on what little space there was and a cramped passageway leading round the interior perimeter of the ship. It seemed clear. But then nothing was as it seemed in this place. By rights, the corridor should give them access to all areas. Why, then, was he expecting not to find another escape hatch?

The only choice was to stay where they were. No going back, only forward. No choice at all.

He started down the channel, inching his way along as much as the space would allow. A little further along, he came across a hatch. Opening it slowly, to his surprise and relief, he found himself looking into the prisoner’s mess area.

“It’s all right,” he called to the others. “Come through.”

Once out of the passage, he looked back down the way he had come to see Jenna on hands and knees heading in his direction. Behind her, he could see Vila closing the hatch of the computer section before manoeuvring himself around to follow her.

It was working, he told himself. The programme had not anticipated everything. At last something was working in their favour.

Then the floor rocked beneath him and he was thrown off-balance. By the time he was back on his feet, a warning siren was sounding. Meteor impact, hull breach. He grabbed Jenna as she appeared at the hatch and pulled her to safety. Peering back inside, he could make out Vila crawling as fast as he could towards him.

“Blake! Blake!” he was calling. “There’s a hole in the wall!”

“Quickly, Vila!”

He stretched out a hand to him. Vila kept coming, panic etched on his features. He was close, so close. Then a metal safety door slid down between them. Blake levered himself back into the passageway and tried to get a purchase on the smooth unyielding surface to push it up. All the time, he could still hear Vila shouting and heard his cries turn to fear when sealing gel began to flood the compartment. Blake called to him, told him not to panic, all the time trying to reassure him that he would get him out until finally he could hear Vila no more.

He let his hands slip away from the door and bowed his head. Nothing more to be done. Backing out of the passage, he found Jenna waiting for him. He did not need to say it, for she had read his expression.

“And then there were two,” she said. “What now?”

* * * * * * *

Gan raced down the corridor, alerted by the regular, insistent tone from the surgical unit. This time it was Vila. A quick glance at the life support showed his vital signs slowly fading.

“Cally!” he yelled into the intercom. “I need you here, now! Vila is dying.”

“You must do it,” she replied. “The other vessel has docked with the _Liberator_. I must defend the ship!”

“Cally.” He softened his voice. If she stayed there, the boarding party might shoot her dead. He could not lose another friend. She had been unwilling to listen reason before, but concern for Vila might just save her life. “Vila needs you,” he said. “I can’t do this alone.”

Turn between losing the ship and losing a life, he could hear her conflict echoed in her voice. “Gan, we can’ t let them take the _Liberator_.”

“Yes, we can,” he said gently. “It’s only a ship.”

“It’s our only advantage against the Federation.”

Behind him, the machine monitoring Vila’s life signs dipped into a series of flat lines. 

“Let it go,” he urged. “Without the others, we have lost anyway.”

“No, Gan,” came her reply. “If this is the end, I will not go quietly. There will be companions for my death!”

“I’d rather you were a companion in my _life_,” said Gan. “Blake would want that too. And Avon and Vila and Jenna.”

There was a long silence before she replied. “Very well, I’m on my way. Get Vila into a resuscitation unit.”

Gan smiled as he took his finger off the intercom button. Between a rock and a hard place they might be, but at least they were alive. And where there was life...


	11. Whose plots have broke their sleep...

“Not bad.”

Vega, a balding, bulky man with a grizzled, matted beard, was pacing around the flight deck, inspecting his prize. Nothing escaped his attention. At a glance, he was able to put a value on every length of laser transfer linkage and detector unit. One of his scruffy minions scurried behind, hanging on his every word and making notes on a data pad.

“Taken a few knocks in its time,” he continued, giving one of the consoles a good shaking. The chair rattled and something small and metallic clattered to the floor. “What d’you reckon, Mocan?”

His second-in-command, a man in stained green overalls with oily smears streaking his arms, was standing behind the forward seating, a gun trained on Cally and Gan. Discretion being the better part of valour, they had offered no resistance. Better to play the fool, Gan had advised, and be overlooked than make themselves a target. So far, it had worked. Vega had not given them much thought.

“A difficult one, boss,” said Mocan.

“Let’s see, half a million light years on the clock, a non-standard operating systems and the upholstery has seen better days,” said Vega. Pinching away the drip that seemed to be permanently attached to the end of his nose, he inspected his glistening fingers before wiping his hand up the back of the seating. “Should get two million credits for her, if we’re lucky.”

“Is that all?” Gan spoke up. “I thought the _Liberator_ was worth more than that.”

“To you, maybe,” said Vega, resting his large hands on the back of the seating. Another drip began to form on the end of his nose, growing ever larger until the force of the _Liberator’s_ artificial gravity claimed it, to fall unhindered onto the padded material below. “Trouble is, there’s no demand for a vessel like this. Now, had it been a freighter, that’s another story. I can hand them out all day long and have a queue halfway from here to Earth. But a warship, who am I going to sell her to? The only buyer I’m going to get for her is the Federation and they won’t pay half of what she is worth.”

Gan glanced over at Cally, her features tight with unvoiced frustration. If she had been unhappy about their meek surrender, she was unhappier still about the role she was being forced to play as the silent subordinate. On coming aboard, Vega focused what little attention he could muster on Gan. No surprise there, given his curt treatment of Cally during their previous conversation. His assumption too that Gan had been left in command of the vessel in the absence of anyone else was much as they had surmised. 

Based on that, they had made their plans. Now it came down to timing.

“What if we make you an offer for the ship?” said Gan.

Vega let out a laugh. “What with? Everything you own is mine, yourselves included.”

“You’re going to sell us?”

“Nothing so crude.” Vega wandered round from behind him and took a seat. “Now, you see, you two present me with a problem. Like you.” He waggled a dirty finger at Cally seated opposite. “You’re not human, are you, sweetheart?”

She bridled and grudgingly forced herself to answer. “I am from Auron.”

“Thought so.” Vega looked Gan up and down. “And what’s your story, big fella? Why haven’t you been affected like the rest of the crew?”

From Cally’s expression, Gan noticed the reference had not escaped her.

Vega grinned suddenly, revealing a mouth of teeth like decaying tombstones. “Got your attention, haven’t I? Go on, ask me how I knew.”

“About what?” said Gan.

“You’ve got something wrong up here,” said Vega, tapping his own temple. “Must be, if you’re from Earth.”

“He had brain surgery,” said Cally quickly. “A tumour.”

Gan did not correct her. She had her reasons, he assumed.

Vega eyed him with sympathy. “That’s rough. Fix you, did they?”

“Not really,” he replied.

“Well, it won’t be bothering you much longer, ‘cos the two of you are going to take a walk out of the nearest airlock. How does that sound?”

“Inhumane,” said Cally. “Why? You have the ship.”

“Ah,” said Vega, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “but what I don’t have is clean title. Very important that, in my business. Now be fair, sweetheart. Don’t look at me like that. We’ve all got a living to make.” 

“There are better ways,” Cally retorted.

“Not where we come from.” Vega sniffed loudly and noisily. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Axis? No, few have. And who could blame them? It’s a rat-infested flea-hole, the armpit of the Outer Worlds. Nothing but bare rock and filth and alien diseases.” His expression grew wistful. “Wasn’t always like that, of course. Back my my great-grandfather’s day, the Federation touted it as ‘The Centre of the Universe’.”

“There’s no such place,” said Gan.

“Well, you know that, and I know that,” said Vega, using his little finger to pick something black from his teeth, which he wiped down his leg. “But my great-grandfather was a simple man. The Federation told him Axis was important, being at the centre of their operations. Everyone would have to pass it, sooner or later. A vital base, Space Command told him. And where there’s people, there’s money to be had. Oh, it was good for the first thirty years. But then the Federation starts expanding and suddenly they stopping coming to Axis any more because it wasn’t at the centre any more.”

“What happened to your great-grandfather?” asked Gan.

Vega shrugged. “They left him high and dry, that’s what happened. He was down to his last five million credits before he negotiated a deal with the High Council to let him have the monopoly over salvage rights. If it hadn’t been for him, the settlers on Axis would have starved.”

“He’s a hero, his great-grandfather,” said Mocan.

“That’s right,” said Vega with pride. “A hero. And we’ve been dealing in scrap ever since. Like this pile of junk.” He looked about him. “One of our collectors tagged it and we’ve been in pursuit ever since. You’ve given us a fair old run-around. Thought we lost you at one point.”

“Then you wasted your time,” said Cally with confidence. “You may have had a claim, but the _Liberator_ had already been boarded by the crew of a ship called the _London_ before you arrived.”

“After, actually,” said Vega, unconcernedly. “My collectors are always on the lookout for the losers in space battles. We have to be very particular about logging time and location. We’ve had a few claims invalidated in the past over the smallest irregularities. Now this ship of yours – Mocan, did the collector log any other ships in the vicinity?”

“Yes, guv, some clapped out Federation transport vessel,” he replied.

“So, got curious, did they?” Vega chuckled. “Well, if they didn’t get notification from Central Registry, then our tagging system would have dealt with them.” His gaze came slowly back to Cally. “Which brings me back to you two. Federation, are you?”

“Certainly not,” said Cally indignantly.

“We were not the first aboard,” said Gan. “We were picked up later.”

Vega accepted his words. The element of truth had been convincing. “And the others who were first?”

Cally looked away. “They died.”

“Come on, love,” said Vega. “Just you two on a big ship like this? You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

He rubbed his finger thoughtfully along his upper lip. “My tagging system says not. You see, in order to protect our property, we have to protect it from claim-jumpers like you. Now, under the current regulations, we aren’t allowed to lay hands on any other claimants. Quite specific that. If I go around killing everyone who thinks they’ve got a claim, I could get into a lot of trouble.”

“I doubt that would bother you,” said Cally.

Vega smiled, giving her a flash of his misshapen canines. “It matters to the Federation. Keen to preserve the illusion of law and order, they are. Because of that, we’ve had to come up with some creative ideas over the years. Have you ever heard of _Epiales aximones_?”

Both Gan and Cally shook their heads.

“Native species of plant on Axis. Now in the early days of the settlement, people kept going mad and no one could work out why. The place was enough to drive you barmy, but it turns out it was due to this nasty little plant. Part of its defence mechanism was an airborne poison which had the ability to act on the unconscious mind. Well, once they settlers found out what was doing it, they tried to eliminate the plant. My great-grandfather, though, he had the idea it might be useful. So they synthesised the active ingredient, turned it into a computer programme and we install it in our tagged vessels to keep the curious out of the way.”

“It does that,” said Gan. “It kills them.”

“No, they kill themselves. The programme infects them when they come on board, they have visions and then they walk right into an energy field.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Is that my fault? It’s not like I lay a hand on them.”

“It’s murder.”

“It’s greed,” said Vega with vehemence. Cally politely tried to ignore the flying spots of spittle that landed on her leg when he spoke. “If they weren’t so intent on stealing what’s mine, then they wouldn’t run into trouble, would they?” Point made, he sat back. “Now your friends, they’re special. They managed to defeat the initial level of infection. That’s usually enough for most people. The programme is still running, so that tells me that one or more of them is still alive. Where are they?”

Cally held his gaze with defiance. Vega was about to say something when the intercom sounded.

“We’ve found a locked door, guv,” came the voice of one of his underlings. “Shall we take a laser cutter to it?”

“No, don’t do that. Let’s not damage the merchandise unless he have to. Await my orders.” A slow smile formed on his lips as he closed the channel. “I’d be willing to lay good money on that room being a medical unit. In there, are they?”

Cally gave a small shake of her head.

“You might as well tell me,” he urged.

“What advantage is there for us?” she returned. “You plan on killing us, anyway.”

Vega smirked. “You know, Mocan, I like this one. She’s got spirit. Look, sweetheart, what say I offer you and the big fella here a place on my ship? He looks like he can handle himself and I dare say a telepath will come in handy. I’ve got more collections to make than I can handle, so I’m always looking for new crew. I can accept you weren’t to blame, coming onboard later and all that. Well, what’s it to be? Are you going to open that door or am I going to have to blast it to pieces with everyone inside?”

Cally hestitated. “What will you do with them? They are good people.”

“You want me to give them the antidote?” said Vega with a sigh. “They got any skills?”

“Avon is an expert with computers and Vila is a skilled thief.”

Vega raised his eyebrows. “Is he now? Sounds like someone I can do business with. I admire that sort of initiative.”

Gan glanced at Cally. “What have we got to lose?” he said.

_He’s lying_, Cally’s voice echoed in his mind. _He means to kill them and us._

“It’s a good opportunity,” he said. “We may never get a better offer.”

Cally gave him a hard look.

“He’s right,” said Vega, nodding. “Listen to the big fella, sweetheart, he talks sense.”

“Very well,” said Cally. “I will take you to them.”


	12. The only hope for the doomed...

“We’re not getting out of this, are we?”

Jenna, standing above him, had a glass in her outstretched hand. 

“Every way we turn, there’s a trap for us.”

Blake took the offered drink with gratitude and downed it in one. The heat was oppressive, enough to leave his skin clammy beneath his clothes. With it had come a raging thirst that left his throat as raw as if it had been blasted with sand. Jenna too was flushed of face. The glow that had come to her cheeks was not entirely unattractive, Blake had noted. He wished he could say the same for himself, imagining the rivulet of sweat he could feel wending its way down his temple. In the months they had spent on the _London_, it had never been as hot as this.

“We will,” he replied, setting the glass side. “We have to, Jenna. If only we could discover the source of the problem.”

“Well,” she said, staring down at the swirling contents of her own glass. “We know it isn’t Vila.”

“That's where it started, according to Avon."

"Much good it did him."

"He's alive, Jenna, I know it," Blake said with vehemence. "He has to be. I don't like seeing friends die."

She managed a half-hearted laugh. "I wouldn't let Avon hear you calling him that. He offends easily."

"After targetting Vila, it became a shared experience," Blake went on thoughtfully. "It has to be something on the ship.”

She stared hard at him. “Or _someone_.”

He caught the emphasis she placed on the word. “I know you have your doubts. How does this benefit Cally?”

“How long a list would you like?”

Blake shook his head. “There was that energy drain. That may be significant.”

Jenna considered. “You think Zen is doing this?”

He shrugged. “Something was using up an inordinate amount of power. Zen could not account for it.” He coughed to clear his throat. The water had done little to ease the discomfort. If anything, he was feeling worse. “That says to me it was something in the system Zen could not identify.”

“Or did not want us to know about.” Jenna released an uneasy breath and wiped the back of hand hand across her forehead. “Another line of defence perhaps? There still a lot we don’t know about the _Liberator_.”

Blake gave a slow nod. “The other option is that none of this is happening, except in my head. All this, you even, it would all be a figment of my imagination.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I could be crazy after all.”

Jenna returned the gesture. “If you are, we all are.”

He tried to reply, but the words caught and refused to come. The sweat was pouring from him freely now. He pulled at his damp collar, trying to loosen what was already loose, and saw Jenna’s features cloud with concern.

“Blake, is everything all right?”

“It’s this heat,” he managed to get out. The voice he heard sounded strained, alien almost. He tried to swallow, felt a constriction and struggled to push past it. The rawness of earlier had been replaced by searing agony, as though his flesh was peeling from the inside, scorched by an internal furnace raging from his stomach.

“Jenna, the water,” he gasped. “I think... poison!”

The rest eluded him. A tight band had clamped around his chest, constricting his diaphragm, preventing him from drawing breath. He tried again, his mouth gaping wide to gather any air he could coax into his lungs. And all around the edges of his vision, a black mist was swirling.

Jenna, beside him, was frantically trying to say something, yet her words were distant, carried away like a dying echo. As her words faded, so did the sight of her face. The world fell sideways and the serried ranks of prisoners’ bunks tilted upright and began to march away from him, one grey obelisk melting into another as the darkness swooped in to dim his vision.

* * * * * * *

“Look at him, sleeping like a baby.” 

Vega, standing beside Vila’s makeshift bed, gazed down with glassy-eyed reverence of a father beholding his offspring. The illusion shattered when he raised his arm to his nose and added another stripe to his sleeve.

“It’s amazing what technology can do these days,” he said admiringly. “Take your friend here.”

“Vila,” said Cally coldly. “His name is Vila.”

“The thief?” Vega tilted his head from side to side, as if trying to examining the patient from every angle. “And he’s clever, you reckon? Well, you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Still, they say the best ones are the ones who don’t look it. And this other one?”

He jerked his thumb in Avon’s direction. Cally obliged with his name.

“Ah, yes, the computer expert. No much of an expert if he couldn’t detect our programme in this ship’s systems.” 

With that, Vega reached across and disconnected the power source for the unit. Avon’s readings fluctuated and levelled out, tracing horizontal lines across the screens. Cally started forward, only for Mocan’s firm hand to catch her shoulder and pull her back.

“We don’t need him,” said Vega bluntly. “Nor this one either.”

Vila’s resuscitation unit fell silent as the power failed. Cally glanced at Gan, who shook his head.

“That was unnecessary!” she said. “You said you would give them the antidote!”

He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I lied. What can I say?”

“You can keep your word.”

“They’re dead, sweetheart,” Vega said loudly, interrupting her. “You keeping them alive ain’t helping them. See, what we have here,” he went on, warming to his subject, “is a Level Four Scenario. We don’t see many of those, do we, Mocan?”

“No, boss,” his surly sidekick grunted. A smile twisted beneath the shaggy beard. “We had a Level Five once.”

“Close run thing that was,” Vega returned. “Thought they were going to make it.”

“What is Level Four doing to them?” asked Gan.

“Ah, well, it depends what’s going on up here.” Vega tapped the side of his head. “See, Level One is the waking hallucination. That’s enough for most folk. It lures you in and wham!” He smacked one hand into the palm of the other. “Straight into a lethal energy field. Now, according to what you tell me, you’ve been on our ship for a while. That says to me our energy field was damaged. Once the programme had repaired itself, it moved on to Level Two, our back-up system.”

“It attacked them in their dreams,” said Cally thoughtfully.

“Wrong!” Vega crowed. “It analysed their dreams.” He perched on the edge of Vila’s chair, one leg swinging in nonchalant fashion. “Dreams can tell you a lot about people,” he went on. “Their hopes, their fears – all that unconscious knowledge waiting to be tapped. Now, I’m not in the business of hopes, but fears, oh, you can do a lot with that. Make a man afraid and you can scare him to death. Make a man believe he is dying and he will make it happen.”

“The troopers Blake saw,” said Gan in slow realisation.

“Troopers?” Vega sat up, suddenly alert. “You’ve had the Federation here?” 

“Blake told us he saw troopers on the flight deck. They shot him,” said Cally. “More of your creations.”

Vega relaxed again. “When that didn’t work, on to Level Three and so on.”

“And what is Level Four?”

Vega scratched underneath his chin and gave his fingernails a cursory inspection, nipping something from under his nails with his teeth. “A shared state of unconsciousness. Makes it more convincing when you’ve got friends along.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, they’re not being hurt, well, not really. You see, when one dies in the dream, because the others believe what’s happening, it reinforces that belief in the mind of the one who’s dying.”

“Barbarous,” said Cally. “You have the ship. Will you leave them to suffer?”

“I can’t terminate the programme now, sugar lips,” said Vega, almost apologetically. “I wish I could. While they’re killing each other, my hands are tied. All I have to do is wait. You see, at the moment, two of your friends are dead, and the other two are keeping them dead because they believe it. Then another one will die and the conviction will be reinforced. So for the last one, the belief will be utterly compelling. When they die, they take the others with them.”

“You said there was a Level Five,” Cally insisted. “That means there is a way to defeat it.”

“Ah, so you have been listening,” said Vega with a smirk. “D’you know why few get there? Because people are cowards. You have to make a stand. You have to make a conscious decision to get yourself out of there, not let yourself be destroyed by the programme. Life after death – there’s something philosophical about that. But how many people have the guts to do that nowadays?”

He rose, as he did so picking idly at a yellow boil on the dirty-streaked skin of his neck. 

“I blame the Federation. No one wants to think for themselves any more. People today are little better than automatons, happy to let the Federation do their thinking for them. An original thought would kill them if it went through their empty heads.”

A persistent staccato bleeping started from Blake’s monitors. Even at a distance, Cally could see his life signs becoming erratic. As his oxygen saturation levels fell rapidly to a critical state, Vega squinted at the screens in grim fascination. With Mocan’s restraining hand on her shoulder, she could only watch as the readings grew progressively worse and finally failed to register.

“There goes another one,” said Vega with satisfaction. “Not long to wait now.”

“Let me help him,” Cally said.

He waggled an admonishing finger in her direction. “What have I told you about that?” So saying, he sauntered over, hands on hips, eyeing her appreciatively. “So, what am I going to do with you?”

“I thought you offered us a place on your ship,” said Gan.

“Yes, well, I’d say anything to get what I want,” said Vega with a knowing grin. “Just ask any of the girls back home.”

“Then you are going to kill us,” said Cally.

“No, you’ll do that for me. Like I say, I can’t have blood on my hands. Mocan,” he barked, “get the big fella here to the airlock. Watch him, he looks like he could do damage given half the chance.” An oily grin spread over his face as he slid his arm around Cally’s waist. “I’ll see to the girl.” 

Mocan gestured with his gun for Gan to move to the door. As he started away, Gan gave a surreptitious nod to Cally. It was time. She turned her attention back to Vega.

“What about you and me coming to an understanding, honey?” he said, licked his lips as he reached out to run a dirty finger along her jawline. “You look like a sensible girl. I could get used to having a pretty thing like you around. And you could have whatever your little heart desires. I’m a very wealthy man, you know. What do you say to that?”

She smiled back at him, much to his evident pleasure. When the smile suddenly disappeared, he was taken by surprise. 

In a swift movement, Cally caught the offending hand and twisted it back as far as it would go towards the wrist. Vega let out a yell and buckled at the knees. Alerted by the commotion, Mocan glanced over his shoulder, only for Gan to pluck the gun from his hands and push him backwards onto the floor. With that, Gan tossed the gun over to her. Vega huddled into a ball, protectively clutching his injured wrist to his midrift, as she levelled the weapon at his head.

““I say you should be careful what you wish for, Vega!” Cally said triumphantly. “Now, this understanding. My terms are these. You tell your men to leave the _Liberator_ and I won’t shoot you in the head. How does that sound?”

“That works for me,” Vega said, swallowing hard as the barrel of the gun held steady an inch from his nose. “Mocan, you heard the woman. Go!”

“But, boss,” his sidekick protested, “what about the ship? Profit before people, you’ve always said.”

“Not when it’s me, you fool! Clear off, and take the others with you!”

Cally smiled down at him. “Sensible. Now, Vega, you’re going to help us save our friends.”


	13. From a little spark may burst a flame...

Catching Blake as he slumped to the ground, his weight brought her down beneath him. Jenna struggled to get free as his body twitched and jerked. By the time she had manoeuvred herself out from under him, Blake had fallen still and silent. She took his head in her hands and stared down at the blue lips, lined with a thin trace of foam. Desperately, she pressed her fingers into the soft flesh under the jaw, feeling for a pulse. 

Nothing.

Blake was dead. 

She tried to concentrate on lowering him gently to the floor, to avoid thinking of the implications. Still they came, cartwheeling at dizzying speed through her mind.

Blake was dead. 

Vila was dead.

Avon was dead.

She would be next.

How would it come, her fears whispered. Impalation. Suffocation. Poisoning. Different every time. This nightmare was inventive. Whatever it had devised for her, it would come fast, unexpected. And she would be facing it alone. 

Somehow, that prospect terrified her the most, sending a chill through her that gripped at her insides until it hurt. The thought consumed her that this feeling was borne of the same poison that had taken Blake. But no, it passed as quickly as it came, leaving a gaping hole in its wake that threatened to pull her into its depths at any moment.

She shook it away. Ridiculous, she told herself. She had faced death before and alone, and in situations far more dire than any dream could invent. Times when the Federation were hard on her heels, hammering her ship with every weapon they had. Time when she had to push on through asteroid fields to escape detection with a full cargo, weaving her way between drifting rocks that threatened to crush the hull at every turn. Times when the ship was powerless and the main drives were burning...

_Burning_. Past and present suddenly collided, and Jenna realised the trace of smoke in the air had not been pulled from some distant memory, but was real. Add that to the oppressive heat and the distant rustle she could hear in the distance, and she was certain the ship was ablaze. Another inventive death, she thought grimly. And if she was honest, her worst nightmare.

Just a dream, she kept telling herself. If Blake was right, she had to make the decision to leave. Not easy, given that whatever was causing this was taking action to prevent them from escaping. The airlock had not worked. Too slow, she decided. It had to be something quick. A weapon would suffice.

Her hand closed around the hilt of her own handgun. She drew it free of its holster, taking a moment to consider the long shaft of what passed as a barrel. Conceptually alien, Blake had called the _Liberator_ and its technology, like nothing they had ever seen before. Alien in appearance or not, it performed the same function. Death at the press of a trigger. Faster than burning alive. 

She licked her dry lips and swallowed heavily before turning the barrel on herself. Quick, she told herself. One shot and she would wake up. And then her doubts took on Vila’s voice and she could hear him saying again, _that’s the sort of crazy thing crazy people do_.

A crash from outside the room as the heat buckled one of struts of the ship’s superstructure was enough to convince her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and pressed down on the trigger.

Nothing happened. She pressed again and was met with silence. The power unit was dead.

She threw it aside. If she needed a weapon, she would have to go to the armoury. Where to find it, that was the problem. After their failed escape on the _London_, Vila had made some noises about being intercepted before he got there. Logically then, it should have been down the main corridor past the computer room.

She approached the door, steeling herself for what she would found beyond it. The heat coming off the metal gave her a good idea. The dream would do all it could to stop her. With that in mind, she tugged off her sleeve, wrapped the fabric around her nose and mouth, and deactivated the lock.

* * * * * * *

“You can’t help them, you know.”

Vega, bound hand and foot and sitting in the corner of the surgical unit, had been keeping up a steady stream of complaints since his crew had been forced from the _Liberator_. The salvage ship had disengaged from the hull and deactivated the traction beam, but was maintaining a close presence. For now, they were shadowing the larger ship’s slow progress, waiting for Cally to keep her word that their captain would be released once the programme had released her friends from their nightmare.

The truce was fragile at best. Whether Vega’s command would hold depended on how much his crew valued his life against the prospect of a potential loss of profit. They had complied, reluctantly, and away from their leader’s iron rule, their impatience would grow. Once they decided he was no longer fit to be in charge, all they had to do was reactivate the traction beam and the _Liberator_ would be theirs again. Time was limited, Cally knew, and not just for the ship.

With the Axians out of the way, she had been able to restore power to Avon and Vila’s resuscitation units. She hoped it had been soon enough. Deprived of oxygen for too long, brain damage would be inevitable and irreversible. As she ran her hand over Vila’s cool brow, she wondered if it was already too late. On impulse, she reached out to his mind, searching for the familiar, irrepressible spark of his essence, and found nothing. The echo of her own thoughts came back to her and where there should have been life was a void.

Aware of Gan’s gaze upon her, she turned to see the concerned expression on his face and shook her head in answer.

“What did I tell you?” said Vega. “You’re wasting your time.” 

Gan gave him a hard look. “For your sake, I hope not,” he said.

Vega gave a firm shake of his head. “Not my fault. There’s not a Federation court would convict me.”

“We don’t follow Federation rules here.”

The smile fell from his face. “Now wait a minute, I wasn’t to know this would happen.”

“Yes, you did,” said Gan firmly. “You wanted us all dead.”

“It would have made my life a lot easier, I won’t deny,” said Vega ruefully. “We don’t usually get this sort of trouble. You would have to be difficult.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about your friends, but we can come to an arrangement. What say we split the sale of this ship fifty-fifty?”

Gan stood over him with folded arms and forbidding expression. “What say you shut your mouth before I do it for you?”

Vega looked up at him and came to an immediate decision. Satisfied, Gan joined Cally at Blake’s side. He had put him into the last of the resuscitation units, which, like the others, was keeping him alive. If they lost Jenna too, the lack of units would not be a problem. Lose the last one, and they would lose them all.

“What are we going to do?” Gan whispered to Cally.

She glanced up at him. “You heard what Vega said.”

“If we deactivate the programme, we might save Jenna.”

“And we lose the others. We cannot be sure Jenna would survive. Look at her life signs.” Cally gestured to the monitors. Jenna’s blood pressure was raised and her pulse was racing. “Whatever is happening in her mind is causing her distress, Gan. It is killing her. If she dies, the others die.” She held his gaze with renewed determination. “I am going to communicate with her.”

Gan looked uncertain. “Will it work? It didn’t appear to work with Vila.”

“I _have_ to try, Gan,” she insisted.

“What about him?” Gan made a furtive gesture to Vega. “If he tries anything while you’re communicating with Jenna, I won’t be able to stop him.”

“His bonds are tight,” Cally said. “Besides, he does not know about your limiter. Until he does, he will not try anything. He does not strike me as the ‘brave’ type.”

“If only he knew.” Gan managed a short laugh. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint him. Good luck, Cally.”

* * * * * * *

Fire raged. 

Moulded fittings melted from the ceiling into grotesque masks with gaping mouths like the frozen screams of the dying. A restless sea of red, yellow and orange licked the walls and buckled the panels behind her. Tendrils of smoke laced around her legs and mingled with her flying hair.

Jenna ran. 

Throat raw and choking, she kept going, because she could not turn back. The ship was burning all around her, roaring as gases exploded and shrieking with the combined screams of buckling metal. If she paused for a moment, she would be consumed. On she went, because somewhere down this corridor was the armoury and a way out of this nightmare. 

She had lost count of how many doors she had passed. Five, ten, it did not seem to matter. None of them had looked familiar, all of them had been sealed. Sooner or later, she would run out of doors. Only the fire would remain, in front of her, behind her, all around, relentless. She could only hope the smoke would get her before she started to burn.

And then, through the roar of the flames, came what sounded like a distorted tone coming from a wall-mounted communicator up ahead. Remembering how Vila said he had heard Cally, she ran to it, winding what was left of her sleeve around her fingers to protect them from the heat before depressing the button.

“Jenna, this is Cally,” came her familiar voice. “Listen to me. This is not real. This is an illusion produced by a computer programme.”

“I can’t escape,” she called desperately. “It won’t let me!”

“You are safe, Jenna,” Cally said, her voice calm and level. “You are here on the _Liberator_. I am here with you, holding your hand. I will not leave you.”

“What do I do?” She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the hungry flames reaching out for her. “Tell me!”

“Blake is safe,” Cally went on, unable to hear her. “So are Avon and Vila. They are here in the surgical unit. None of what you have experienced has happened. But we need you to force yourself to wake up. You need to extract yourself before the programme does.”

Jenna recoiled as the edges of the communicator began to curl. Globules of plastic started to bead and fall from the wall. She backed away and started to run again, until she came to the next panel.

“Cally,” she called, activating the unit. “Cally, are you there?”

“... must do it, Jenna,” Cally was saying. “You can control the dream. You have to believe it will work.”

A metal support smashed into the floor inches from where Jenna was standing. She backed away, watching as the grey strut was licked by fire into a blackened, twisted mass. An explosion from behind her made her jump and she turned to see the inferno approaching from the other direction. She was trapped, with only one door left. This had to be the armoury, she told herself. If Cally was right and she was in control, then this _would_ be the armoury.

Twice she tried to open the door. Then, at the last possible minute, the door suddenly yielded and she ran inside as the flames closed the gap where she had been standing. To her relief, she found her resolve had been rewarded. Surrounded by weapons of every kind, she had her pick.

She selected the nearest carbine and, telling herself this one would work, tested it. A clean shot impacted on the rack of weapons on the opposite side of the room, sending them spilling to the floor.

“Come on, Jenna,” she said to herself. “You can do this.”

She turned the barrel towards her and studied it for a long moment. The doubts were back, mocking her determination. _To do this is madness_, they whispered. _Are you controlling this dream or is it controlling you?_

Once she allowed one to speak its mind, another added its voice. _Cally said it was a computer programme, but how do you know that was Cally? What if this is another plot? What if it wants you to kill yourself? What if it has taken Avon’s words from your memory and is using them against you?_

“No,” she said out loud.

_What if Cally is lying,_ they persisted. _What if she is responsible for this and wants you dead? You always thought it was her._

“Stop!” she cried out, shaking her head. “You’re trying to confuse me. It won’t work.”

Over and over the thoughts tumbled. _Jenna would never do this_, they said. _Jenna doesn't want to die. There must be another way. Go to the fire and wake up, Jenna._

Only a deafening bang as the metal of the door bent inwards with the heat brought her back to the present. Around her, the walls were glowing white-hot as flames started to creep out of the vents. Waves of sheer terror swept through her. It was now or never. She had no reason to trust Cally, except that Blake’s faith in her had never wavered. And she was terrified of fire.

As the walls started to fold in on her, she pulled the trigger.


	14. Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always

Consciousness returned suddenly, with every sense thrust into high definition. Heart-pounding, thoughts whirling, Jenna was bolt upright before she had fully comprehended where she was. It took a moment to recognise the stark surroundings of the surgical unit, with its familiar tang of unpleasant chemicals and the loud discordant bleeping of monitors. Finally her gaze fell on Cally, standing at her bedside, smiling encouragingly whilst trying to ignore the pain of a hand slowly being crushed in Jenna’s grasp.

She quickly released her. “What happened?” She took in the resuscitation chambers and their waking occupants. “Are they all right?” 

Cally nodded, her eyes going to where Gan was hurrying from one couch to another, freeing the sleepers from their temporary prisons. Vila was the most audible, kicking free of his unit whilst yelling about some unseen presence trying to overcome him. Blake was slower to respond, choosing to remain as still as possible with his eyes closed as if trying to dispel the lingering illusion of nausea, whilst Avon’s hands were tellingly straying to his stomach for a tenative examination. Alive, but not unscarred, Jenna thought.

“You did it,” Cally was saying reassuringly when she pulled her attention back to the present. “Everyone is safe now, thanks to you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Jenna dashed away a trace of moisture from her cheek. The remnants of a tear glistened on her trembling fingertips. “They were dead, Cally. All of them. I thought... it seemed so real.”

“Yes, I know. It was a computer-induced dream, nothing more.” Cally stepped away and returned with a glass filled with green liquid. “Here, drink this. It’s a relaxant. It will ease the shock.”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “Shock? For something that didn’t happen?”

It was easy to say that with her eyes open and the nightmare fading. Just a dream, like so many before, filled with all the fantastical horrors the mind could invent. Except, it had been more than that. 

The truth, if she were honest with herself, was that it was possible. Not Vila’s wolves, but explosions and poisons and fires that could extinguish their lives at any times. It would – must – happen one day, she knew. Any safety they thought they _Liberator_ afforded was as much an illusion as the shared dream world they had escaped. The only difference was there was no escape from reality. No nightmare could rival that.

Cally said nothing in answer, but the hand she laid on Jenna’s shoulder spoke volumes. It was enough she understood.

“I wish someone would tell Vila it wasn’t real,” said Gan, breaking the sombre mood with a rueful laugh. 

Limbs flailing, fighting an invisible foe, Vila had finally managed to pitch himself onto the floor. “That hurt!” he complained, as he got to his feet, winding his blanket a little closer around him to preserve his modesty. “That must mean I’m alive. I am, aren’t I, Gan?”

“Yes. Now sit down, Vila, and have a rest. You’ve had a nasty experience.”

“Nasty?” Vila muttered as he eased himself back down. “Is that what they call it? Oh, it was horrible, Gan. All that sticky stuff, all over me. I couldn’t breathe. Horrible it was.”

“I’m sure it was, Vila,” Gan said consolingly. He turned to the adjacent bed. “What about you? Do you know who you are, Avon?”

Avon opened his eyes just enough to let him see the withering look he had reserved for him. “If I didn’t before, I do now.”

“Why are you worrying about him?” Vila said indignantly. “He got off lightly, if you ask me. It was me that was smothered to death!”

Jenna noticed Gan and Cally exchanging glances. Something had happened here, she decided. They would hear the whole story, eventually, but not now, not when it was still too fresh in everyone’s minds.

“We were concerned about potential brain damage,” said Gan carefully.

“In Vila’s case, you are about thirty years too late,” said Avon, releasing a long breath as he eased himself up onto one elbow. “How did we get out of it?”

“Jenna did it,” Cally explained. “She found a way to defeat the programme.”

“Well done, Jenna,” said Blake. He had roused himself a little and with effort sat up. He had been rubbing distractedly at his throat, only to stop when he caught her looking at him. “We were right about the source. That’s something.”

“_You_ were,” said Jenna.

He gave her a consoling smile. “We all make mistakes. In the meantime, Avon, shut Zen down until we can analyse what went wrong.”

“It isn’t Zen,” said Cally. She gestured to Vega, who had been keeping quiet in the corner. “It was him.”

“And who is this?” said Blake, taking in their grimy guest.

“Captain Vega of the salvage ship, _Bellatrix_, out of Axis, at your service,” he spoke up. He winked at Cally. “See, no harm done, sweetheart. I don’t know what you were worrying about.”

“_Sweetheart_?” said Jenna, her eyebrows rising.

“He thinks it’s endearing,” said Cally.

“Does he?” Jenna climbed off the bed and went over to Vega. Staring down at him with all the dislike she could summon, it was all she could do to stop herself wiping the smug grin off his face. “Axians," she said with distaste. "They have a loose regard for other people’s property.”

“How loose?” asked Blake.

“If they want it, they take it.”

“Never without good cause,” said Vega. “My conscience is clear. And, unlike you people, there’s never been a charge laid against my name.”

“Because no one has ever survived your encounters long enough to accuse you of anything.” Jenna stared down at him coldly. “Do you remember the _Dendara_?”

Vega screwed up his face in an effort of remembrance. “Class G Star Sprinter, abandoned off the Arbus Cluster in Sector Seven? I do recall it, now you mention it. We did quite well out of that one.”

“Not abandoned, stranded,” said Jenna. “I had friends on that ship. I was on my way to pick them up.”

“You were too late,” said Vega.

“I know. I found their bodies drifting where you left them.”

He shrugged unconcernedly. “What else was I supposed to do with them? They were dead when we got there.”

“So you say.”

“He threatened to throw us out of the airlock,” said Cally.

“Did you?” Jenna demanded.

“She’s taking my words out of context,” Vega protested. “I’ve never done harm to no one. I might have asked people to leave, but if they go out the wrong door, what fault is that of mine? I’m not responsible for their actions.”

“But I certainly will be for mine!” Avon, rising too quickly, swayed slightly before correcting himself and came over to join Jenna. “Find your way to the nearest exit and get out!”

Vega ignored him. If he was concerned for his future, he was making a good show of hiding it. “Now, look,” he began. "I’m a reasonable man. I can see there’s been a misunderstanding here, so why don’t you let me put things right?” There was a sly look in his eye. “I’ll remove my programme from your systems and we’ll go our separate ways. I’ll even rescind my claim to this ship.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” said Vila, padding over on bare feet. His blanket had begun a slow procession from his shoulders to reveal more than a brief glimpse of his chest. He quickly covered himself up, revealing his knees in the process. “It’s too early in the day for violence.”

“No,” said Cally firmly. “He’s planning something. He said there was another level beyond what you have experienced. Worse, I understand.”

“Worse?!” Vila spluttered. His grip on his makeshift garment slipped and he almost lost it. He caught Avon scowling at him and retreated. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“No, nor do I,” said Blake, rising from his chair. “Avon, can you disable this programme? I don’t want him anywhere near Zen.”

“Just try it, _computer expert_,” said Vega with a sneer. “See how far you get.”

“That sounds like a threat,” said Blake.

“Secondary defence systems in all probability,” said Avon.

“Can you handle them?”

Avon gave him a deprecating look. “Is there another option?”

“There might be.” Blake turned back to Vega. “Your crew seems to place some value on your life. Why don’t I ask them how to disable the programme?”

Vega snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. If you don’t release me, my crew will activate the traction beam again.”

“And we will destroy them.”

“No, you won’t.” An oily smile spread over his face. “Because we have safeguards, you see. Try to power up your weapons and you’ll initiate a reverse power discharge into the main drives. If we can’t have the ship, no one will. That’s how it works.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said Cally. “Earlier, Zen stopped us from using the weaponry systems. He said it amounted to an order to terminate the crew.”

“You’d destroy the _Liberator_?” said Vila incredulously. “What good is that to you?”

“First rule of business, never let your competitors get an advantage,” said Vega. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“It’ll certainly feel personal if I get blown up.”

“Not if we eliminate the programme first,” said Avon. “Do you still rate your chances of getting off this ship alive?”

“Actually, I do.” Vega sat back in his chair, seemingly unconcerned. His confidence was disarming. “You see, I know who you are. I heard you call her Jenna. And if I’m right and her full name is Jenna Stannis, then you’re that trouble-maker, Blake, we’ve been hearing about.”

“Then you’ll know of what we are capable,” Blake replied evenly.

Vega sniffed heavily, inhaling the large droplet that had formed on the end of his nose. “I don’t think so,” he said dismissively. “The last thing you want is for word to get around you’ve been harassing an honest trader going about his business in a law-abiding manner. You do recognise the rule of law, I take it?” He gave Blake a challenging look. “Or only when it suits you?”

Blake stared long and hard at him before making up his mind. “You’re right, Vega. _I_ do. I can’t speak for the others. Cally, contact the _Bellatrix_.”

Vega quailed slightly. Sweat beaded at his temples, the first sign of nervousness he had betrayed. “Er... no need for that, I’ll co-operate.”

Avon’s eyes narrowed. “That was too fast for my liking.”

“I doubt his crew will help him,” said Cally. “He had to order his second-in-command to leave. Their code is profit before people.”

“Another one who believes wealth is the only reality,” said Jenna with a sideways look at Avon.

“It is.” Avon’s brow was furrowed in thought. “If Vega does not want us to contact them, it is because he knows they will not trade his life for the ship if we threaten to kill him.”

“We did before,” said Cally.

“That was when we were under the influence of their programme and they were waiting for us to die. Now we are awake...”

“Once they know they have lost their advantage, killing Vega would suit them,” Blake finished for him.

“That means Vega is tied in some way to their programme.” He nodded decisively. “DNA. It would explain how they are able to board a ship without being targetted by the defence system.”

“What do you need?”

“Get me a sample of his DNA. From there, it should be relatively simple.” Avon turned an unfriendly eye on Vega and smiled. “Blood would be preferable, if you can bear to touch him. I’ll make a start. In the meantime, I need someone to monitor the auxiliary systems.”

“I’d offer,” said Vila. He helplessly gestured to himself. “But I’m not dressed for the part.”

“I’ll do it,” said Blake. He followed Avon out, pausing with his hand on the doorframe before he left. “Jenna, as soon as you can, join us on the flight deck. Cally, Gan, can you manage him?”

Gan folded his arms and stared down at their reluctant captive from his advantage of height. “I don’t think he will be a problem.”

Vila nudged him in the side. “Do that line about only needing the hand. I liked that.”

“It’s not the hand we need, Vila.”

“What you need,” Vega piped up, “if you don’t mind me saying, is a plan.”

“You’ve got one, have you?” said Vila. “Hasn’t help you so far.”

“It’s not me I’m thinking about.” Vega’s eyes turned admiringly to Jenna. “You’ve got a reputation, so I’ve heard. A good smuggler in your day. What are you doing with this collection of crackpots?”

“Crackpots?!” Vila spluttered indignantly. “I’ve got skills, me!”

Jenna ignored him, never taking her gaze from Vega’s face. She kept her expression neutral, giving him the impression she was giving his offer serious consideration.

“You could do very well for yourself with a proper outfit,” he continued, licking his lips appreciatively. “One like mine, for example. I could set you up with a nice ship and a crew of your own. What do you say, _sweetheart_?”

She answered with a well-placed right-hook. Vega was swept backwards by the blow and knocked off his chair. He lay sprawled on the floor, a look of astonishment on his face and blood running freely from his nose.

“You’ve got your sample,” said Jenna, shaking away the soreness in her hand.

“Crude but effective,” said Vila approvingly. “Not bad for a bunch of crackpots.”

While Gan stooped to haul the man back up to his chair, Cally took Jenna aside and gave her bruised knuckles a cursory examination.

“It’s nothing,” said Jenna, extracting her hand from Cally's grasp. “It will heal.”

Cally smiled with understanding. “We all have scars we are proud to wear.” Her expression sobered a little. “And you? Do you feel better?”

“Much.” A petty revenge, she thought, but a satisfying one. A small victory for the friends she had lost on the _Dendara_ and the ordeal he had put them through today. She was about to leave when an urge she had tried to resist would be suppressed no longer. “And, Cally, for what you did earlier... thank you.”

“What else could I do? You are my friends.”

“Yes, we are,” Jenna answered. And for the first time, she knew it was true.


	15. Epilogue

A cacophony of voices came to Jenna’s ears as she headed down the corridor towards the flight deck. Vila mostly, from the sound of it, worrying Gan with some minor concern. Avon had to be there too, given the nature of the request that had brought her back to the heart of the _Liberator_, although from what she could hear, he was not joining in the discussion.

“And you promise me I was decent,” Vila was saying, “when you carried me into the surgical unit?”

“Yes, Vila,” Gan was patiently trying to reassure him.

“And you didn’t see anything?”

“No, Vila.”

“No messages, anything like that?”

“Messages?” There was confusion in Gan’s voice.

“Yes, messages, you know. _Things_ written on me.” 

Jenna chose that moment to appear at the head of the steps. Vila, standing with Gan by the forward seating, immediately flushed bright red. Avon, at his console, spared her a fleeing glance before returning to his inspection of the computer scans scrolling on the viewscreen in front of him.

“What sort of messages?” Gan persisted.

Vila looked warily at Avon and Jenna to see if either were listening, and then reached up on tiptoes and whispered in Gan’s ear. 

“_Welcome aboard_?” Gan repeated out loud, more puzzled now than before. “Why would anyone have that written on them?”

Vila’s cheeks burned with mortification. “It’s a long story,” he stammered.

“Best you come with me then and explain,” said Gan genially. “I still have those routine checks to run on the teleport. Now where was this message exactly?”

Vila scuttled after him, only to pause. Avon had stopped what he was doing and, under his withering glare, Vila was squirming with embarrassment.

“I was young,” he blurted out. “My friends put me up to it. You know how it is.” His face fell when he saw he was having little effect on Avon. “Look who I’m talking to. No, I don’t suppose you do know how it is.”

With that, he turned and hurried away after Gan.

“Fool,” Avon muttered under his breath.

“Did I miss something?” said Jenna.

“Yes.” He gave a derisory snort. “Consider yourself fortunate.”

She caught herself smiling. “What did you want?”

“Put your hand on the scanner.”

Jenna obliged without questioning. Avon had his reasons, usually good ones where the ship’s technology was concerned. The light glowed, her skin tingled a little and it was done. She removed her hand, flexing her fingers to dispel a slight numbness and wandered back to Avon’s side to see what he was doing. A meaningless ever-changing array of numbers and figures, as restless as the hands that flew across them. Whilst he was concentrating, she was reluctant to disturb him. She knew too she was unlikely to get a response until he was ready. Finally with a sigh, he sat back in his chair, signalling his willingness to tolerate her interest.

“Finished?” she enquired.

He nodded. “You were the last.”

“I usually am.” 

His tired eyes gave her a flicker of acknowledgement. A full twenty hours without rest whilst Avon had attempted to purge the programme from the _Liberator’s_ systems had taken its toll on everyone. To fall sleep whilst the Axian defences were still in place was a risk no one had been prepared to take. Even now, the thought of going to bed had little appeal. The programme may have been defeated, but the memories remained.

With that in mind, she needed reassurance. “Is the _Liberator_ back under our control?”

Avon visibly bristled at the question. She could not blame him. Doubt raised about her abilities would have provoked the same reaction. Still, she had to know.

Disarming the programme had not been the problem. As soon as they had started to move, Vega’s crew had thrown all thoughts of their captain to the wind and had deployed the traction beam, reactivating the defence system. A few anxious minutes ensued as they went round in a circle, with Zen clearing the weapons and then failing to comply, before Avon was able to bring the rogue programme to heel. Despite a warning shot across their bows, the salvage ship was still following at a safe distance, still expecting the _Liberator’s_ crew to succumb.

At some point they would have to rid themselves of Vega. Blake’s preference had been for abandoning him on the nearest planet as soon as they had put distance between the ship and the _Bellatrix_. Chaffing at his inability to bring the man to justice, he had had to settle for the next best thing: putting out a general alert of the Axians’ _modus operandi_. No court would never prosecute on evidence gathered by rebels, and if the warning saved the lives of even one crew, it would have been better than nothing.

So far, Vega had decided against the wisdom of protesting about his treatment. Once free, Jenna knew he would go straight to the Federation and lodge charges of kidnapping and theft. That was the least of their worries. What was another crime against their names when there was already a price on their heads? It was a strangely liberating thought, to be able to do whatever they wanted, knowing that the penalty had been decided long ago.

Perhaps too liberating, Jenna had decided. The thought of killing Vega was a tempting prospect she was denying herself. Better the devil you know, Blake had advised. He had a point. Without Vega’s hand on the tiller, the Axians might turn to more diabolical measures in their pursuit of wealth. While they were still sanctioned by the Federation, there were some limits on their behaviour.

Despite his chagrin, Avon deigned to reply. “We are in control.”

There was an edge to his voice that made her suspicious. “Why did you need me just now?”

“I had to enter your DNA into the system so the defence programme would recognise you.”

Jenna felt herself stiffen. A chill shivered across her skin. “We’re keeping it?”

“I cannot remove it.” 

Avon’s tone was strangely matter-of-fact. He appeared less concerned about having been frustrated in his task than Jenna might have expected. That he was prepared to admit it suggested he had found a compromise.

“It is parasitic in nature,” he went on. “It apes the commands of the host programme and deceives it into believing it is integral to the system. For example, when Blake destroyed the energy sphere, the programme was re-initiated by our own auto-repair circuits. As a consequence, removing it now will cause a primary malfunction. It is sophisticated and complex.”

Jenna shifted uncomfortably. “If you say so.”

“Since we cannot eliminate it, we might as well make use of it.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

“Not particularly. It was Blake’s idea. I happened to agree.”

“That must have been disconcerting.” There was no easy way to say what was on her mind. A direct approach was needed. “Avon, what I told you the other night, about my dream.” 

It got his attention. There was speculation in his eyes, but he did not press further.

“The other person, I said he would never have tried to kill me.” She let the thought lie, biting her lip, before continuing. “Well, he might have done, given the right incentive.” She turned away and hoped he would not hear the strain that had come to her voice. “I think I’ve always known that, but never wanted to admit it. What about you?”

“What about me?”

There had been a challenge in his reply. Jenna decided not to pursue it. Instead, she faced him, hands on hips, and chose her words carefully.

“I don’t need dreams like that,” she said. “I would rather keep my illusions.”

“Then do so. The defence system will not target you again.”

“Can you be sure? What if it malfunctions? Are you willing to risk Level Five?” She moved closer, invading his space so he could not ignore her. “It’s dangerous. Deactivate it.”

“Others will want the _Liberator_. Vega is only the first.”

It was a persuasive argument. Jenna had a ready answer. “We can reactivate it when we need it.”

Avon gave her a searching look. “What about Blake?”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

As appealing as that prospect was, he was still resistant.

“Whoever she was,” she said in a low voice, “do you need those doubts?”

Avon’s defences slammed into place faster than Zen could raise the force wall, and just as impenetrable.

“I don’t have them,” he returned sharply.

The problem with force walls, as any good pilot knew, was that they drained energy reserves and, given enough hammering by a skilled opponent, were liable to collapse. It all came down to the choice of weapon.

“Even if we survived Level Five,” Jenna persisted, “could you live with those thoughts?”

Avon’s gaze lingered in hers. His eyes matched the way he presented himself to the world: cold and dark. Yet in that expense of endless midnight, something was stirring. Whatever it was vanished as quickly as it came. A decision had been made.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I shall make the necessary adjustment.”

Jenna folded her arms against his simmering resentment. “You know I’m right.”

“Everyone is, occasionally.”

With his parting shot delivered, he left, and in his wake came Cally, looking uncertainly in the direction he had gone.

“What’s wrong with Avon?” she wanted to know. “He barely acknowledged me.”

“No change there, then.” Jenna smiled at her confusion. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so. I find some of your ways difficult to understand. Vila, for example. He stares at me.”

There it was again, Jenna thought, that guileless naivety, still trying to make sense of a world that was as alien to her as she was to them. Except this time Jenna was more inclined to be forgiving. When it had mattered, Cally had been there. In adversity, they had found a common bond. Given what they had been through, if Cally in turn needed help, a little guidance was the least she could do.

“Why does he do that?” Cally was wondering out loud. “Do I appear strange to him?”

“I think he likes you.”

“Then why does he not say? On Auron, if we like someone, we tell them.”

“Well, I get the impression it’s slightly more than that.”

Cally frowned. “He admires me?” Her eyes suddenly opened wide in realisation. “He _loves_ me? He cannot. He does not know me. On Auron, we have many discussions to weigh the advantages and disadvantages to both sides before embarking on such a relationship.”

“But surely you are aware of each other’s feelings before that?”

“Of course. Such things are widely known and accepted. We do not stare,” she said, as though the revelation had come as a shock to her. “Perhaps I should confront Vila. We could discuss his feelings as a group. That is how we do things on Auron.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” Jenna said quickly. She could imagine the reaction all round. “Best to ignore him, Cally. He will lose interest in time. Unless you do like him rather more than a friend?”

Cally grimaced and gave a short shake of her head. “I think I understand now. Thank you, Jenna.”

The smile of gratitude that lit her eyes was genuine. Jenna accepted it without question, not feeling those old misgivings of previously. Trust had to be earned and Cally had done that. From now on, things would be different, like knowing when she closed her eyes, the dreams would be her own, not a manufactured monstrosity.

“I’m going to bed,” Jenna said, pausing as she turned to go. She had one more piece of advice to offer. “Cally, what I said about Vila: he means well, but if he offers to show you his tattoo, refuse.”

**The End**


End file.
